Tim McGraw
by wouldtheywriteasongforyou
Summary: Lily is 18 & living in Nashville to attend Vanderbilt University & pretending to be a Muggle student come fall. The summer before college starts, she finds herself in a complicated, enchanting, & crazy relationship with a Muggle guy; but who exactly is he? He calls himself James Bond & James Taylor, but Lily hopes that when he thinks Tim McGraw, he thinks of her. Taylor Swift song.
1. Postcard from Paris

**Author's Note: Hi, ya'll. This is my second Harry Potter fic (the first being GinnyxHarry and called You Thought I Would Forget). It's my first time doing LilyxJames so don't hate on me if I screw up on some (hopefully none) of the details. I'm sorry for not being as well-versed as you other Jily experts. Oh, and this is my first M story, so you know, it'll sound mostly T but I'll eventually get around to the truly-anticipated-for lemon(s).  
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**This fic is pretty cool for me to write because I am writing in an Alternate-Universe so pretty much anything goes. Consider that your first warning (:  
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**Translation of French words at the bottom.  
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**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKRowling (she's the lucky one), Tim McGraw belongs to Taylor Swift, Postcard from Paris belongs to The Band Perry, and this story belongs to me {wouldtheywriteasongforyou for those of you who don't know my name}.**

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Chapter One: Postcard from Paris

Merlin, it is hot in here. I blow sweaty, nasty clumps of auburn ringlets out of my face and desperately search my granite kitchen counter for a glass of water that I know I had set down only a few seconds ago. Somehow the water has magically disappeared into thin air—well, not _magic_ magically since I am no longer in possession of a wand. I use the term 'magic' in the Muggle sense now. Oh, all of this confusing round-about thinking is making my head hurt. Which reminds me, where did my water go? I find a small bottle of Aleve but that will do nothing without water to swallow the painkiller down. The pounding in my heat has now reached catastrophic measures. My hands start to frantically reach for anything and everything on the counter. They snatch up a piece of mail designated for the rubbish bin. I stare at the rubbish for a few seconds before I remember something I used to do when I was a little girl: origami. It takes a few tries, but in a couple minutes I have made a functioning origami paper fan that feebly cools my overheated body down.

I continue to fan myself and collapse into one of the four chairs surrounding a circular glass table. I am so very exhausted. Who knew moving overseas required so much work?

However, as I survey my surroundings, a subconscious smile of accomplishment spreads across my face. I am actually and physically here. After months of counting down the days until my graduation from Hogwarts, a nine hour plane trip from London to Nashville, and receiving my acceptance letter to Vanderbilt... Godric, I still cannot wrap my mind around the fact that I am here in America and am going back to the Muggle world to further my education. Never mind the hotter living conditions or that I am thousands of miles away from home—this is to be my new home now.

I have been in Nashville, Tennessee for over a month now. I am still trying to learn the American way of life and customs so I can blend in, but as soon as I open my mouth and speak, I am immediately ostracised. My posh-sounding British accent sounds so out of place compared to the casual drawl of the locals.

I start my first term at Vanderbilt this August which is in a little over a month-and-a-half and a month too early than the typical September fall term in Britain. I am so excited to be getting a true global and international education experience. I have to say, I miss my life full of magic, but giving it up temporarily was a small price to pay for the wealth of knowledge I am soon going to be privy to.

I prop my feet up on another chair and survey the stifling flat—I mean, apartment. My air-conditioning unit had stopped working a mere ten minutes ago, and the temperature in my flat had already risen to atrocious heights. It had gotten to the point where I had to stop unpacking my many boxes in fear of getting heat stroke in this hot, humid Tennessee atmosphere.

A pile of mail is stacked half a metre high on the glass, circular kitchen table. Most of the mail is financial or rubbish, but the OCD part of me has my arm reaching out and sorting through the stack of papers.

A small glossy photo on durable cardstock catches my eye. Merlin, I haven't seen one of these in a long time. I hold the Muggle postcard up into the bright summer sunlight and blink wondrously up at the picture-perfect, unmoving image.

It's a postcard from Paris. The breath-taking architecture of the Eiffel Tower is shown. The sky is coloured a dark inky indigo-black and decorated with smatterings of glowing stars and constellations in the background, and the Eiffel Tower is all lit up like a Christmas tree. The scene is so flawless and beautiful, and a feeling of nostalgia washes over me. It has been about five years since my last visit to Paris. I miss my French hometown and my best friend, Safran.

I flip the postcard over and eagerly begin to read her familiar, casual scrawl:

_Lily of the Valley—_

_Hey, you! Do you even realise how long it has been? Of course you wouldn't—you're too caught up in your new, spoiled American life. But whatever, _fleur_. My feelings are not __that_ _hurt that you have not spoken to me since my graduation from __Beauxbâtons__—which, I must add in, was no less than two days from your own Hogwarts graduation. _Félicitations_ on that, by the way, _Mademoiselle major de promotion.

_Anyways. So how's life? I still cannot believe you forfeited your _magique _powers as a _sorcière _so you could attend Vanderbilt the Muggle way. Wait, I take that back. You're Lily Evans, known to follow rule to the point of _extrémité. _Merlin, Lily, how much do you care about studying at an American Ivy League university? Giving up your magic is going _un peu de_ too far, don't you think? And I'm not saying any of this because I think you are incapable of fully converting back to the Muggle lifestyle—keep in mind that I am 100% Muggleborn like you even though all the aristocratic preppy Pureblood girls at __Beauxbâtons liked to think that I was a Squib—but completely abandoning your magic for at least four years? Merlin, Lily, you're absolutely mental!_

_Morgana's broomstick, _fleur_, I truly and honestly did not mean to start a fight with you. _S'il vous plait pardonne-moi?

_Since I obviously cannot refrain from sharing my strong opinion on such personal topics, let's switch to something more trivial. Have you seen any hot American blokes yet, Lily? _Ne m'en veux pas _for asking. I'm curious, that's all__. __And Merlin, please tell me you are or will be making some sort of effort to date while you're across the pond. They are Americans, Lily! Their accents are _beau à ravir! _Granted, their style of dressing is not comparable to the elegance of Parisian fashion, but who knew jeans and the casual just-woke-up look could be so sexy? And the food! _S'il vous plait, fleur, _tell me that you are gorging yourself on all of that available food. I mean, Americans don't even have to pay for refills on beverages! And they get _grande_ size cups for their caffeine and not the little hold-with-two-fingers teacups we use!_

_Merlin, Lily, now I want to go to America. Send me a ticket whenever you get the chance? I promise to love you for forever if you do (:_

_Yours till the tear drops,  
Kisses and hugs ~Safran_

I sit back and smile at Safran's postcard. Typical Saffy. Magical and boy-obsessed. It is nice and refreshing to see that she hasn't changed one single bit even though there are thousands of kilometres between us.

However, I deduce form past experience of note-corresponding with Safran that she has written more on the postcard than I have actually read. I flip the card over to its glossy side and scour the image of the Eiffel Tower in search of Saffy's hidden message. I hope that she hasn't magically concealed the rest of what she has to say because she obviously knows that I can no longer perform magic—aha! I smile triumphantly as I locate the rest of her script.

_Have you heard? Rumour has it that a certain James Potter is in Tennessee for the summer. Maybe he'll be the hot bloke in your American summer romance ;)_

My smile quickly fades into a scowl as I read what she has written on the silhouette of the Eiffel Tower. I seriously regret introducing Safran to Potter three summers ago. Saffy is too concerned with my romance life, and once she heard about Potter's embarrassing and juvenile infatuation with me, she had demanded to stay with me for a couple weeks in August the summer before Fifth Year just so she could meet him in person.

My best friend and my worst enemy hit off immediately, much to my annoyance. Saffy continuously tries to set me and Potter up on dates to this very day, and Potter, being the insufferable git that he is, laughs at my humiliation and encourages Saffy's efforts.

I had sincerely hoped that I could leave Potter in my past once I had graduated Hogwarts, but it seems not to be the case. Tennessee is a relatively big state, but with my horrid luck, Potter probably just so happened to relocate to Nashville like I did.

Merlin, I fervently hope not.

I then let out a little sigh as I suddenly remember all the boxes that still need to be unpacked. Bugger. I reach out onto the table and grab the origami fan and my glass of water. A few more minutes of relaxing won't make a big difference in the big scheme of things, right? However, as soon as I finish chugging my water down, I realise that I am absolutely ravenous. I stand up, stretch and pop a few vertebrae, and then mosey my way over to my refrigerator.

Unfortunately, as soon as I open the stainless steel door and a blast of cool air tingles against my face, I realise with sheer disappointment that my refrigerator is practically bare. A few sad pieces of wilted lettuce decorate the otherwise empty vegetable drawer, and I don't even have any of the essentials like eggs, bread, or butter.

I groan as I check the time on my wristwatch. It's half-past one and I still look like a troll that just rolled out from under their bridge. Not cute at all. A trip to the local market is the last thing I want to do, and I most certainly do not want to put forth the effort to make myself look decent for the public. I don't know if it's because I'm feeling particularly lazy today or what, but the next thing I know, I'm behind the wheel in my ratty faded old sweats that I woke up in this morning. There is not a single speck of make-up on my face, and I feel pretty gross. But hunger wins out, and that is why I am off to go shop for yummy delicious food in this ratchet state.

I pray to Merlin that today some celebrity like Taylor Swift or The Band Perry is not in town. Or worse, someone I actually know. Godric, that would be mortifying.

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**Author's Notes: Reviews would be lovely.  
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**I know ya'll want me to clarify a few things in more detail, so here goes~  
*Lily has given up her magic indefinitely so she can study at the Muggle Vanderbilt University in Nashville, TN  
*She has graduated Hogwarts already  
*She's eighteen (don't know if that's true in canon, doesn't really matter if it is or not)  
*Her hometown is Paris, France  
*Her best friend's name is Safran, a muggle-born who graduated from Beaux-batons  
*This fic does not take place in the original canon time period (duh, ya'll, this is AU) which means it is NOT the '70s  
*It's the middle of June now; Lily graduated from Hogwarts in May and freshman fall term at Vanderbilt starts in August  
**

**French translation:**  
**Mademoiselle major de promotion- Miss Valedictorian**  
**Magique- magic**  
**sorcière- witch**  
**extrémité- extremity**  
**Félicitations- congratulations**  
**beau à ravir- very beautiful**  
**un peu de- a little**  
**s'il vous plait pardonne-moi- please forgive me**  
**Ne m'en veux pas- don't hold it against me ; don't be cross at me**  
**fleur- flower**  
**Safran- Saffron flower (Latin name: crocus)**

**Happy birthday, Taylor Swift! You're 23 today ~ it feels like a perfect night to write you a story and dress up like a hipster while I make fun of my ex (: I only wish you were my bestie and could have a T Party with me! Baking cookies and lighting candles...sounds like fun! Anyways. Enough of my rambling.  
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**Yeah, yeah, review 'cause it feels like one of those nights where this place is too crowded and there's too many cool kids. This story is bad news (in the best way) and I gotta have your review! [This is me, changing the lyrics of _22, _as I try to sound like a BAMF(: ]  
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**Haha. I have a feeling that I'm just making a crazy fool out of myself. No matter, I know ya'll still love me to the moon and back. ~wouldtheywriteasongforyou  
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	2. Where I Come From

**Author's Note: Hi, my name is wouldtheywriteasongforyou, and I curse like a sailor. I give myself a 1 on the swear-scale today with a 1 being pretty non-existent. Tomorrow, I predict high humidity, big-ass frizzy hair the size of Texas, slick pavement, two hours of traffic, torture deathtraps called high heels, and some F-bombs being thrown at a few unsuspecting people who are oh-so-inconveniently in my way. Thank you for listening to the Pessimist on 99.9 FML radio. Roger this, over and out.**

**Oh, yeah. Apparently the world is supposed to end today, according to the Mayan calendar. Yuh-huh, I don't think so. All that cray-cray shit that went on in the film _2012 _did not happen to me or anyone that I know unless some wizard performed the Oblivio spell on me today.  
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** A 'car park' is where you park your car. Kind of self-explanatory, right? You can also refer to car parks as parking lots.  
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**Disclaimer: "Where I Come From" is by Montgomery Gentry. _Harry Potter_ is by You-Know-Who. (:**

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Chapter Two: Where I Come From

A few weeks of driving around Nashville have not yet re-wired my brain. I am still used to driving on the opposite side of the road, and when I am as distracted as I am right now, old habits die hard.

Eighteen honks later (but who's counting?), I pull into the local market car park relatively unscathed. It is _such_ a spectacle just to go drive to the market for some simple groceries. I now realise that I have taken my magical powers for granted. Driving a car and actually having to shop for my food feels rather foreign and odd to me after years of travelling by Floo or having the Hogwarts elves cook for me. Now, it's time to live in the real world and stop being so dependent on magic. It shocks me how much I miss my wand already. I come from a Muggle background—I'm used to living like a Muggle. I guess I'm just a touch out of practice after all these months.

I remember telling Professor McGonagall on Career Day of my Sixth Year about my plans to study abroad at Vanderbilt. She was completely supportive of my decision, and she went to extreme lengths with the Ministry of Magic to reason with them that my extended education was legal. The Minister of Magic was none too pleased with me—I still don't think he is to this very day—and all the trouble I caused with me straddling the magical world and the very different Muggle world. I mean, it's understandable that I cannot very well put 'Hogwarts: School of Witchcraft and Wizardry' on my college résumé, but perhaps taking away my magic _was_ a little extreme like Safran so eloquently told me in her postcard. Then again, I understand why the Ministry does not want me to have the opportunity to use magic to place myself ahead of my Muggle peers at Vanderbilt. Not that I would, of course, but the Ministry has to take all necessary precautions since they do not personally know me or my ethics.

And, I got the feeling that the Minister did not take my Muggleborn background too well. He was so surprised and shocked at my grades and my application to Vanderbilt—a little too surprised if you asked me. His astonishment seemed almost degrading on my part. I can only imagine that he was not too keen on pulling a couple of strings for me to get accepted to Vanderbilt University.

However, Professor McGonagall argued in my favour that my Muggleborn background would help me to remain inconspicuous and more Muggle-like than Pureblooded magical people. Also, she said that since I knew how the Muggle world operated, I would get more out of the education I was to receive at Vanderbilt than the average witch or wizard.

Can I just take a moment and say that Professor McGonagall's logic and reasoning skills rock? She convinced the whole entire Ministry that my goal to study abroad in America at a Muggle university was completely sensible and would benefit me to my advantage.

Thus, I am now in Nashville, Tennessee. I am so grateful to Professor McGonagall for helping me to get here. I honestly do not know what I would be doing right now if I hadn't brought up that one fateful conversation to her in her office on Career Day in my Sixth Year.

The rattle of shopping trolleys on the pavement jolts me out of my reminiscing. I realise now that I have been sitting here in my car staring off into space for the past first-quarter of an hour. I must look like some mental person. I can only hope that the people here do not judge.

A familiar-looking flash of messy jet-black hair catches my eye. I focus my eyes on the grocery store employee who is pushing all of the shopping trolleys. For some reason, his hair reminds me of James Potter. The style is a little different, but the unmanageable disarray oddly echoes the insufferable toerag that I had to endure with for the worse part of my seven years at Hogwarts. The employee's face is turned away, and I have to convince myself that there is no way that that is Potter who is pushing those trolleys every which way in the car park. My mind must be subconsciously still thinking about Saffy's words that she had not-so-helpfully hinted about Potter. Damn you, Saffy, for making me delusional.

I open my car door and get out as I suddenly remember that I am here to grocery shop and not to gawk at people who sort-of-not-really look like James Potter. Right. Grocery shopping. Did I even make a list before I left my flat? I mentally face-palm myself. Smooth thinking, Evans.

Well, no use in wasting petrol and time now that I'm here at the market already. I might as well just wing it and buy whatever strikes my fancy. I cringe, hearing Mum's voice in the back of my mind scolding me about the dangers of being unprepared when shopping and the increased risk of over-spending and ruining credit.

Yeah, yeah, whatevs. I am responsible and such. I think those money-conscious lectures were more for my shopping freak of a sister. Petunia never seemed to be able to hold over £20 in her pocket at any given time. But I digress.

I shut the door to my red Mini Cooper and beep the lock twice. Then, I try to flag down the grocery store employee so I can snag one of those trolleys off his train of at least five. My awful luck seems to render me incapable of such a simple task, though, and I resign myself to jogging over in an uncoordinated manner to get a trolley.

"Hey!" I shout. "Hey! Mind if I take a trolley?"

The employee freezes up and tenses his shoulders. Then, after an awkward pause, he pushes a trolley over in my general direction without turning to face me or anything. Odd.

But just because he seems to be a rude wanker doesn't mean that I have to be an insensitive git back. "Thanks!" I call over to the antisocial employee. Of course, he gives no acknowledgment whatsoever that he heard me.

Hmmph.

His aim is pretty good, though. The trolley ends up within arms' reach. I stretch out a hand and grasp the handle of the trolley and then proceed to trot towards the front entrance of the market.

It's pretty big compared to the local neighbourhood markets back in England. The bright artificial lights are disorienting, and the way they reflect off every shiny and brightly-coloured product in the shop is extremely distracting. I look left and see all the 'fresh' produce; I look right and spy all the baked goods like breads and pies; and straight in front are all the shelves lined with every food imaginable. I eye the fruit stand contemplatively. Fruit does sound quite good at the moment. I amble my way over and peer curiously at all the fruit on sale. There are so many exotic choices vividly colouring the baskets and shelves, but I find myself drawn to my summer comfort fruit: strawberries, apples, and kiwis. I cringe once I read that the labels do not read organic, but all of the sudden I get a craving for the sweet fruit, pesticides be damned. I pick up a carton of scarlet strawberries, give them the sniff test, and once I find a box that fits my criteria of 'the perfect strawberry', I add it to the trolley along with a couple of fuzzy kiwis. The apples are looking suspiciously bruised today so I'll save them for the next time I come to the market.

Once my fruit pickings have been decided, I meander along further into the market. Unfortunately, now the only way further is to pass the butcher's counter. I grimace and try my hardest to ignore the raw crimson slabs of meat proudly displayed in the chilled display shelves. Those poor, innocent animals. I hear the whir of the meat processor start up, and the metallic tang of blood faintly permeates the air. I shudder and hold my breath and speed up so as to escape this nightmare of a place, but my concentration is focused on not inhaling the Godric-awful smell of dead carrion and I do not see where I am going and consequently end up violently crashing into something. Or rather, someone. Shocked, I let out a startled gasp and accidentally breathe in the scent of blood. I start to feel a little faint from holding my breath for so long and also from the smell of iron and salt.

"I'm sorry!" I say frantically. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I didn't see your trolley there. I am terribly sorry—I didn't mean to run into you. Sorry, sor—"

"It's cool," a deep, masculine, American voice interrupts my rambling. "Hey—it's alright. Don't sweat it."

My eyes have been lowered to the ground in mortification during this entire encounter, and the only thing I can see of the most recent victim of my clumsiness is that he is wearing a pair of gently worn taupe-coloured Sperry Topsiders on his feet and his stone-washed blue jeans are slightly frayed and ragged around the hems. So far, he look like a typical casual and preppy Muggle guy.

"Hey! Er, are you British by any chance?" the guy's voice asks me, gently pulling me out of my thoughts.

His random question catches me off-guard, and I find myself reverting to my sarcastic side that consists of stereotypical, dry British humour. "Aye, mate," I quip back to the American Muggle in my best Scottish accent. At Hogwarts, there was this Slytherin git in my year who had the strongest Scottish accent I have ever heard. I'm not proud to say it, but Gryffindor had no boundaries when it came to mimicking the arrogant and pompous fool. Needless to say, I got some sort of practise in to perfect my accent, but I have a feeling that it was a little rusty at the moment. I could only hope that the American had no idea what a true Scot sounded like. Unable to resist myself, I chance a look at the stranger's face to gauge his reaction to my little accent-swapping I just did.

Surprisingly, his mouth is quirked into an amused half-smile. "Nice try, lassie," he responds in a thick and authentic Scottish Highlander brogue. "I went to a boarding school for seven years in Scotland. I know a true natural Scots accent from an acquired one." He looks at me calculatingly. "Can't say the same about an English accent, though," he says ruefully in his American accent. "Hence the question."

"Oh," I say distractedly as I blink in confusion at his own ever-changing accent. Now that I am listening closely, I hear that his American accent does not seem to be quite perfect. It seems to be that he grew up speaking a different dialect. If I'm not mistaken..."You're Welsh."

"Yes, I am," he answers back agreeably, switching from an American accent to his native Welsh one. It's so familiar to me, and for a minute I think he is somebody I used to know. "Did you spend some time near the border, then?"

I shake my head. "No. I've actually known only one Welsh person in my life. He went to grade school with me. He was a real annoying talkative prat—couldn't keep his mouth shut. That's the only reason why I could detect that you are from Wales; I've been listening to a Welsh accent a lot. You pronounce a couple words the same as him." I look at the stranger contemplatively. Now that I think about it, he seems to have more in common with James Potter than a Welsh accent—once again, I see someone else sporting messy black hair. Damn Saffy for making me think about Potter!

"Ah," the guy says, completely oblivious to my inner thoughts as he agrees to what I verbally expressed to him. "Makes sense."

I then remember his earlier question. Like the weird spaz that I am, I randomly blurt out: "I'm half-English. My father was from a small country town on the coast of the English Channel, and my mum is from Paris. For my whole life, I've gone between England and France."

His brow furrows as he tries to understand my outburst. I can practically see the light bulb dinging above his head when he figures out my verbal diarrhoea. "That's cool," he says with a smile.

_Wow. That is a really nice smile. Kind of hot, actually._ I find myself reflexively smiling back. Now that I think about it, he isn't that hard on the eyes. He looks about my age, his lanky frame easily towers over my 1.6002m body—I think that's 5 feet and 3 inches in US Customary form—and he has lovely hazel eyes that are ringed with a stunning combination of safari and olive green.

Hold up, Lily. Stop staring at the nice stranger. You're probably creeping him out.

"So," the stranger says to me. "Er, either my eyes need checking or you're the best looking girl I've seen all week."

I think my jaw just dropped open. A little forward much? Not that it wasn't flattering, if not cheesy and mildly degrading. Please tell me he did not just use a pick-up line on me.

"I mean," he continues, slightly blushing but definitely more cocky and confident. "Were you arrested earlier? Cos it's gotta be illegal to look that good."

Now I _know_ he's just messing with me. I look like shit in my sweatpants and over-sized T-shirt and I really don't want him to be a pretty little liar and tell me otherwise. I clear my throat and start to inform him that, but he begins to tell me another one-liner.

"You know, I think I must be Richard Gere because you are the Pretty Woman."

Oh, Merlin, not _that_ movie. I start to laugh because there is no way in hell that I look anything remotely close to Julia Roberts. Cute-corny-and-a-bit-of-a-jackass stranger grins proudly, obviously thinking that he finally won me over.

"Nice try, Mr Gere," I snort. "Did you know that you are one hell of a liar?"

"Thanks. I get that a lot," he says with a to-die-for smile, flashing me what looks suspiciously like dimples. Fuck, please anything but dimples. He has pretty eyes already, is crazy tall, and from Wales. If he has dimples, I might spontaneously combust from all his sheer physical perfection.

Godric, Saffy, why did you have to get my hormones all mental with your postcard about a summer fling? Now I can't even keep my cool within the presence of a super-hawt stranger.

_Be a cucumber_, I command myself. _You know, chill and all that shit. _I take a deep breath to ground myself, and that's when all the smells of blood and salt and dead meat assault my nose.

"Are you okay?" he asks worriedly. He glances over at the butcher counter and then back at me. I see him make the connection, and then he oh-so-politely inquires: "I know you'll find it hard to believe, but I'm not particularly a fan of standing in the middle of the walkway next to dead moo-moos as I talk to a pretty girl. Why don't we talk somewhere a little more romantic like..." His voice trails off as he searches the store. "...like near the wine and cheese aisle?"

The words have barely left his mouth before I am off like there is a blast-ended skrewt chasing me. I park my trolley in front of a display of a wheel of cheese with the infamous Horizon cow jumping across the obverse. The cow reminds me of what he had said regarding the ground beef over at the butcher's counter. "Moo-moo?" I say to him with an arched eyebrow as I bite my cheek so I don't laugh or crack a smile.

He sees right through me, though, and gives me his own sardonic lifted eyebrow back. Oh my Merlin, kill me now before I melt into a pool of girly hormones. "Cow," he clarifies, although he is blushing brighter than a fireworks show.

"I know what a moo-moo is," I say in a _duh_ voice. "I've just never heard anyone say it since Grade 2. It's adorkable."

"Great," he says, rolling his beautiful hazel eyes. "I think I just lost all my manly points."

And, because I need to work on that filter of mine, I blurt out: "That could never happen." My eyes widen once I process what I just exclaimed and then I bury my face into my hands. I am so very stupid. Why can't I talk normally in front of this Adonis-like specimen?

Of course, my comment brings out Mr Cocky Bastard again. "Is that what you think?" he asks, his eyes coloured brightly with amusement and smugness.

"No," I unconvincingly deny.

He just laughs teasingly at me. It's a rather nice laugh, deep and rich and I could just drown myself in the sound of it for forever. His laugh makes me tingle and my lips involuntarily curl into a half-smile as I instinctively laugh along with him.

As our laughter peters out, he peeks over at me from underneath his eyelashes. It makes him look shy and unsure which I find endearing. He seems more like a confident and smirking jackass, so this more vulnerable side to him appeals to my more empathetic nature.

"I feel like I've met you before," he says softly, cocking his head to one side. I feel like I can see into his soul right now with that deep, contemplative look he is giving me. Then, of course, his cocky personality shines through when he ruins our moment by saying: "Did you graduate from USW? The University of Stunning Women."

"Godric! Enough with the pick-up lines!" I all but explode. "Newsflash for you but they really don't work on girls!"

He chuckles back and says genuinely, "Thanks for the words of wisdom, er,..."

"Lily," I supply.

"Lily," he repeats with another one of those lethal grins that are like a shot of pure Amortentia to my body. "See, Lily," he continues on, "Those pick-up lines of mine that you aren't very fond of _do_ work. I got your name, after all."

Shit. Fucking hell, how did that happen? I scowl over at Mr Cocky Bastard and raise two of my fingers into the British equivalent of the American middle finger. "Well, fuck you, asshole," I bite out. Merlin, defeat does not taste good at all.

"Not a bad idea," he says with another one of his smirks. "Perhaps you wouldn't mind doing the honours later...?"

Merlin, such a typical boy. I roll my eyes and say back, "Sorry, but not sorry. I'm a tree-hugger and a firm believer of being classy and not trashy."

"Oh," he says with a faint sneer of disgust. "You're one of _those_ people."

"Yeah," I snap back. "I'm one of them. Got a problem with that?" I don't even pause to take a breath before I'm haranguing even more at this presumptuous, rude, and arrogant stranger. Screw his good looks, his personality sucks Merlin's hairy balls. "And who in the name of Godric gave you the right to start judging and criticising me?"

Some sort of unrecognisable emotion flashes across his eyes before he responds. "If you told me who this 'Godric' you keep referring to, I might be able to answer your question in a sufficient enough manner that satisfies you and your ever-changing temperament, Lily." His voice still has an edge of biting sarcasm, but oddly, it seems muted and a bit more controlled. It's almost as if he is carefully choosing the words he speaks even though he is talking to me at the same rate I was ranting at him earlier.

Oops. I must've subconsciously said Godric a few times too many. I forgot that this stranger is only a human Muggle. And that I'm supposed to be a Muggle too that has no idea about magic or who Godric is or Merlin and his hairy balls. But speaking of Muggles, why is this person still a stranger? If he knows my name by now, shouldn't I have the right to know his?

"Who _are_ you?" I question, completely ignoring the whole Godric aspect of our conversation.

The stranger's face blanks. Suddenly, he draws himself up to his full height before proceeding to give me a well-practised smoulder. "Bond," he says self-assuredly. "James Bond."

"Like hell you are," I promptly retort back. Why can't the git just give a straight answer for once? But that smoulder of his is pretty effective. It's pretty reminiscent of Flynn Rider's, that Disney rebel who is pretty fuck-hawt for an animated cartoon. No wonder Rapunzel fell for him in the film _Tangled_.

"Well no shit, Sherlock," wanna-be 007 tells me. He then smirks. I'm beginning to think that's his natural face or something. "The name's James Taylor."

I give him a surprised look. "Like the singer?"

"Er, yeah," he replies. "My mum's a big fan."

I bite my lip. I want to tell him _Yeah, right_ but what if he's actually telling the truth about his name this time? I'm kind of known for making situations awkward, and honestly, I don't want that to happen right now.

So instead, I stretch out a hand and say: "Nice to meet you, James."

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**Author's Note: You should totally review before we all die because the world is ending or the zombie Apocalypse occurs or some weird shit like that happens (: **


	3. See You Again

**Author's Note: Heyy! So if you're reading this, you've just now survived the end of the world. My congratulations to you and all the other lucky people in the world. Must've been hard to do.**

**LOL, you Lucky Charmers ;) You make me feel so happy that ya'll are paying attention to my details. Sometimes I write asshat things in the story just to fuck around with you and see if you're actually paying attention to the shit I write. (Not really. _hgforlife_ is the four-leaf clover marshmallow of yumminess who found a crazy-big mistake in the last chapter. Cheers to you!) And hey you anon reviewer! Make an account or log in or something so I know who you are because you are one smart cookie for noting the trolley guy. C'mon, Einstein reviewer, do it. I reply to all reviews, you know. (some replies won't make sense cos some of you write reviews that don't make sense)  
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**Disclaimer: I watched a Harry Potter film on the telly last night. JK Rowling was called the author of the series in the credits. I guess that means she owns it, huh? And in case you were so desperately wondering, I happen to own a purple 16GB iPod Nano (call me old-fashioned) that has a playlist labelled _Country Girl_ and is the lovely inspiration for this fic. It's on shuffle, and whatever song comes up is the title of the corresponding chapter. It started off with _Tim McGraw, Postcard from Paris, Where I Come From, _and now the song playing just so happens to be _See You Again _by Carrie Underwood.  
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**And, just because Lily is banned from using magic does not mean that I am too. Watch me: *points wand at self* _Evanesco_.**

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Chapter Three: See You Again

"Hi," I say politely to the middle-aged receptionist who is typing furiously away on her keyboard. "I'm Lily Evans, here for my two 'o'clock appointment with Ms Mundy?"

The receptionist gives no sign that she has heard me. I don't really know what else to do, so I linger by the desk for a few minutes longer. "In a minute, hon," she absent-mindedly tells me and then proceeds to punch the keys a few more times. She then swivels around in her roll-y office chair and then blinks up at me from beneath her glasses. "I'm sorry, what did you say?" After I repeat what I said, the receptionist smiles apologetically at me. "Oh, dear. You're in the wrong wing of the building. Undergrad Admissions are now located in the Old Gymnasium. It's on the other side of this quad."

"Oh," I say. "Er, my mistake. Thanks for your help."

"No problem, dear," she tells me but she's already back to clacking away on the keyboard.

I mentally berate myself as I step out of the cool, air-conditioned building and into the sultry June heat of Nashville. How could I have been so stupid as to mess up where the Admission's Office is? I had checked and double-checked the directions Google Maps had given me, I had printed out a map of the Vanderbilt main campus, and I had still managed to go to the wrong building.

_Dumbass_, I curse at myself. I am a perfectionist and extremely proud of my organisation skills — people at Hogwarts thought I was OCD and overly meticulous — but lately I don't know what's gotten into me. I've become forgetful (case in point: yesterday when I forgot my grocery list) and the epitome of imperfection right now. Godric, I hate making mistakes.

I'm halfway across the quad now. If I hurry, I might not be late. I certainly do not need to add tardiness to my ever-growing list of negatives—

"Ow!" I yell as I suddenly careen into someone. Of course, I go down to the ground and land promptly on my ass. "You dipshit! Watch where you're walking!"

"You could just say 'hi', you know," a very familiar voice says. "You don't have to keep running into me to get my attention."

"Trust me, James," I mutter, frowning. "I don't plan this. I don't know why I'm so clumsy lately. I don't even know why you're here." Panic starts to engulf me and my voice hitches at the end in hysteria.

What. The. Hippogriff. I never ever have freaked out in front of a stranger before! Not me! Not the calm and composed Lily Émilie Evans!

...I take that back. I have a tendency to freak out when everything isn't perfect and nothing goes right which seems to happen a lot because I have the worst luck in the world.

"Shh, shh," he tells me in a placating voice. He rubs the right side of his ribcage where I ran into him. "No harm, no foul." James then falls dramatically into the grass beside me. "But if it makes you feel better...you've wounded me terribly, Miss Lily! How shall I ever survive!"

I laugh at his dramatics. "I am sorry, though."

"Yeah, yeah," he waves a hand dismissively. "You're lucky it was me, though. I doubt that a professor would like to be called 'dipshit'."

My eyes widen at what had flown out of my mouth. "Oh, shit!" I groan. I hadn't even realised that I should be watching what I say. Yeah, good thing it was only James that I had hit.

"But for the record," he continues. "Try not to make it a habit to run into people. It's not a very good social skill."

Sarcastic wanker. "Fuck you," I say. I squint at him. "What _are_ you doing here?"

He stares up into the blue, blue sky dotted with puffs of cotton-y, soft, pillow-y clouds. "My mate goes to school here. He'll be a sophomore come fall. He's taking a couple summer classes and registering for a few more right now—"

"Bloody hell!" I yell. I had totally forgotten about my meeting with the head of Undergrad Admissions. "Merlin's hairy balls!" I grab James's wrist and curse again when I see that there is no watch even though there is a watch tan on his skin. "You wouldn't happen to know the time, would you?" I ask hopefully in a semi-calmer voice a few seconds later. But seriously, I am desperate. I need to know how much my reputation has been screwed.

"Er...quarter past two," James says hesitantly, obviously wondering why I went all batshit on him.

"Ugh! Damn it all to hell and back!" I moan, completely frustrated.

"May I ask what's the problem?" he inquires politely. I'm impressed. He's got a lot of balls to face me when I'm in such a horrendous mood.

"If you _must_ know," I say melodramatically, "I was supposed to meet Ms Mundy, the head of Undergraduate Admissions, at two today. But if it's a quarter past...well, that's too late for me to even say that I was caught in traffic or try to lie some sort of convincing bullshit."

James arches an eyebrow at me. "Since when do you swear so much, Evans?"

I stare at him dumb-founded. How the bloody hell did he manage to copy James Potter down to a T? The mannerisms, calling me by my last name, the arched eyebrow, and the tone of voice...I even think Potter said that exact phrase to me in Fourth Year when I cursed up a storm in Potions when Amos Diggory threw up in my cauldron and made my potion explode.

This James Taylor guy is beginning to have more similarities with Potter than I can tolerate.

"We need nicknames for each other," I say, in a seemingly random sort of way.

"Huh?" is his eloquent reply.

I roll my eyes and continue to promote my idea. "Yeah. Friends have pet names for each other, right? No more calling me Evans. And I won't call you James."

James Taylor shakes his head confusedly at me. "Everything you just said makes absolutely no sense."

I sigh. "We," I say, pointing at him and then me, "Are friends. Right? Right. I don't just run into random strangers, you know. You have to be worthy enough to be run into by Lily Evans. But I digress. Anyways, since I now officially decree that we are friends—"

"What are you, the Queen of England?" he snickers at me.

One pointed glare at him is all that it takes to make him stifle his sniggering. He should be so honoured to be graced with my friendship, unlucky bastard. "—make up some sort of nickname for me and I'll do the same for you."

"My, you sure are bossy," he remarks casually.

Like I said before, UNLUCKY BASTARD.

Truth is, I can't stand calling someone James because the name unfortunately connotes with the word Potter. And I'm sure everyone on this planet knows just how much I like to be reminded of the immature prick that would stop at nothing to get my attention.

_Must have done a pretty damn well good job if he's still stuck on your mind_, my bitchy, nasty, pain-in-the-ass conscience told me.

"What's your middle name?" he asks, interrupting my unwelcomed thoughts.

"Émilie," I say. It's the French version of the name Emily and I have to admit, it sounds prettier in a French accent.

"So your initials spell 'LEE'? I guess my nickname for you will be Lee-lee. That good enough for you, Your Royal Highness?"

I toss my new nickname around in my head. It doesn't bother me. "Yeah, that'll do, Jamie," I tell him.

He gets a funny look on his face but doesn't protest the name I just called him. Instead, he informs me: "So...your juvenile instance on nicknames for each other now delayed your meeting with Mundy for another twenty minutes. You should probably let her know and reschedule. She doesn't like to be kept waiting, Lee-lee."

"Bugger," I mutter. I had forgotten about the appointment once again which is quite unlike me. But then some strange thought occurs to me and I narrow my eyes at Jamie. "Wait. If you aren't a student at Vanderbilt, how do you know the specifics of Ms Mundy's personality?"

He chuckles at me. "You know my mate I was talking about? He's a real indecisive fellow. Can't decide on which courses to take. His counsellor got so tired of him that she passed him off to Mundy. But it's alright—Mundy is wrapped around Remy's pinkie finger and she tolerates me better than most. Me and Remy can't complain much, right?"

I shake my head at him. "Right." I can only imagine how much a handful Jamie and his friend Remy are together.

"Speak of the devil," Jamie mumbles. "Here he comes."

"James!" shouts a figure over by the west entrance of the quad. "Stop flirting and help me smuggle some donuts past Mundy!"

I laugh and smirk at Jamie. "So you call this flirting?"

He makes a face at me. He yells at his friend without ever taking his eyes off mine. "Shut up, Moone! You don't know what you're talking about!"

Jamie's friend is close enough now that I can see him wiggle his eyebrows. "What, the donuts? They're glazed, powdered, chocolate-y, and delicious! What is there not to like?"

"No, you dumb arse," Jamie says, rolling his eyes. "I wasn't talking about the donuts."

"Oh, so you meant the fair maiden Lily?" Remy teases, smiling kindly in my direction. "How do you do, flower? James here is quite smitten with you, never shutting up about your witty remarks."

I smile back easily, not minding that even though Jamie and I had met yesterday he was already talking about me to his close friend. It made me feel...special. Maybe this summer fling had potential after all. "Besides being terribly late to a meeting with Ms Mundy I'm quite dandy, thank you," I say politely. "And you, Remy Moone?"

The dashing brown-haired man gave Jamie a discreet troubled and wary look which I noticed, thank you very much. The many lines etched deeply all over his young face made him look tired and decades older when his face moulded itself into a grave and serious expression. I find myself liking Remy's playful side better; then, the lines transform into laugh creases and Jamie is getting ragged on about something or other. Jamie, at the moment, is shaking his head almost imperceptibly and the look on his face clearly says _Just go with it_.

"Never been better," Remy tells me. Before I can ask why, he continues on with: "Flower, why don't you tag along with us to Mundy's dungeon? I have to clarify a few things with her at half past two and James and I can probably help smooth things over with her about why you are half an hour late to your important meeting. Deal?"

"Deal," I beam. I stand up and begin dusting the grass off the bottom of my trousers. "I knew I was wrong to believe anything bad Jamie said about you, Remy."

"Oh?" Remy inquires with an arched eyebrow.

Jamie smirks back at his best mate and then gives me the stink eye. "Evans, what did I tell you about making shit up?"

"Nothing, if I recall correctly," I say, like the good little smart ass that I am. "What did I tell you about calling me Evans?"

He scrunches up his nose, which, if I do say so myself, is quite adorable in a total if-you-were-my-brother way. "You didn't really _say_ anything," he says with a shit-eating smirk. "You just kind of lectured me about the importance of nicknames and forced me to make you one."

"Yes," I say unashamedly. Every single close friend of mine has a nickname. It's one of my many quirks. "What of it?"

"Nothing, if I recall correctly," he mimics me.

I pout and put my hands on my hips. "That wasn't very nice, Jamie," I say. I turn to Remy. "Hide the donuts from him. He doesn't deserve any."

The corners of Remy's mouth twitch upwards. "As you wish, Buttercup," he grins.

I laugh at his not-so-subtle reference to _The Princess Bride_ and Wes's trademark saying. I laugh even harder when Jamie grumbles about Remy and me flirting. Wow, these two sure are a comic relief. And it's quite amazing how comfortable I feel within their presence. Typically I shy away from strangers, but with these two I feel like I've already spent a good portion of my life with them and now I am making up for lost time. Strange, considering I've never met them before.

"Well come on then," Remy says. "Mundy doesn't like to be kept waiting."

"So I've heard," I respond as I help Jamie stand. Jamie looks at me in a surprised but grateful way. I shrug off his mutter of thanks and start walking across the quad towards the Undergrad Admission's office.

The grass is soft and springy underfoot. It's been freshly mowed and the smell lingers in the air even though I imagine it was cut earlier this morning. A sapphire sky and golden summer sunshine bloom overhead. If I look hard enough in the distance, I can see the sky-scraping outlines of downtown Nashville. I am so in love with this nature-filled university campus and this sunshine-infused city. It's so different from the grey, drizzly skies of London and the fashion couture streets and cafés of Paris, the two places I call home. Even so, I can't wait to add Nashville to my repertoire of places where I feel at home.

We cross the quad in comfortable silence. I find it surprising, considering that I am flanked by the mischievous Jamie and the ever-teasing Remy. They don't seem to be the type for laissez-faire silence, but I have to admit, the quiet is rather nice.

Remy leads us off the edge of the green and onto a winding, carefully constructed stone path. Ahead looms a grandiose brick-covered building with a mosaic of ceramic shingles for its roof. Pink cherry blossoms cover the ground in a delicate carpet as the trees overhead shake them loose from their branches in fragrant clouds. A weather-faded green awning over the main entrance shades us from the hot sun.

"This was the Old Gym?" I ask incredulously. Never before have I seen a gymnasium look so...enchanting and fairytale-esque. Most gyms that I am acquainted with have an air of torture and despair. Dungeons of agony and pain are what I am familiar with; not this beautiful rustic building that looks like a country club.

Jamie laughs at my reaction and Remy smiles. "Yeah," Remy tells me. "This was the Old Gym. But I've only known it as the Undergrad Admissions office."

"Oh," is all I say. I'm still a little wonderstruck by the beauty of this campus. This magnificent building that used to be a gymnasium just helped me fall in love with Vanderbilt a little more.

"So you're a freshman?" Remy inquires as we walk inside the air-conditioned haven.

I nod, not trusting my voice. This is so overwhelming and wonderful and it absolutely takes my breath away. It's not my first time to walk around the Vanderbilt campus—surprise, surprise—but I am always left in shock and awe at the elegant, old-time feel of the university.

"What brought you to Vandy?" he asks.

I pause. I hadn't really thought about formulating an answer to that question—obviously I couldn't tell Muggles that I had transferred from Hogwarts or that I wanted to pursue a non-magical education focusing on physics and chemistry so I could understand the laws that bridged the gap between the Muggle and wizard world and affected magic especially in the Charms and Potions area. I would be breaking all promises and contracts I had made to the Ministry if I even mentioned the word magic to a Muggle.

"Er...," I say, stalling for time as my mind races to think of a response to Remy. "I guess I wanted a change of scenery from Europe for awhile. And the science department has an excellent reputation here. Not to mention, the cross-country team is pretty kick-ass, or so I've heard."

"Cross-country?" Jamie asks with a blank look on his face. "The skiing kind or running?"

I laugh loudly. "Well, I sure don't see any snow around here, do I?"

Remy smirks at his friend. "Dumb question, mate."

Jamie rolls his eyes at both of us even though I know he would've done the same thing if I had asked some stupid ass question about something or other. "Cool," he says. "Didn't know you ran. 5K's, right? What's your best mile-split?"

I smile, ready to shock the arrogance right out of him. "4.53," I boast.

Both blokes have wide eyes. "No shit?" Jamie manages to croak out. "You know I meant only 1600 metres, right? Not like—"

I scoff back at him. "Why so scared? What's your best mile?"

Jamie grimaces and shoots a sheepish glance at Remy who chuckles back at him. "5.18," Jamie grumbles, not meeting my gaze.

"That's a decent time," I say sincerely. "Are you thinking of joining the XC or track team?"

Jamie quirks an eyebrow at me. "I'm not the one enrolled at Vanderbilt, Lee-lee. Remember?"

No, I obviously hadn't remembered. I blush, embarrassed that I had forgotten already. But, wait. He never had told me so in the first place. I'm prepared to get into an argument with him, but Remy cuts in before I can say something back to Jamie.

"Hi, Ms Trusclair, we're here to see Ms Mundy...she's here for the two o'clock slot and I'm here for the half past two slot."

I look at Remy confusedly, wondering who the hell he is talking to. There's no one else in the lobby of the building except for Remy, Jamie, and me.

"Yes, of course," someone, presumably Ms Trusclair, responds. I whip my head around, trying to locate the voice. Jamie's snickering at me. Bastard.

He bends down so his lips are barely grazing my left ear and says, "Are you looking for the receptionist, Lee-lee?"

I want to kick him in the shin, I really do, but I know I have to act mature if my curiosity is to be satisfied. "Yes, you damn know well that's what I'm trying to do."

Jamie chuckles at me. "It's not my fault you're such a pixie."

Really? Is this _really_ the time to be making fun of my height? I open my mouth to let the bastard know just exactly what I think about him right now, but then I mull over his words one more time. Hm. Is he implying what I think he—

I dart out of Remy's impressively tall shadow. Oh. So _that's_ who he was talking to. I couldn't see her because I had a wall of a person in front of me, but okay. Ms Trusclair looks down at me and then at the papers on her desk before squinting at the computer screen over her black frame glasses. I sigh impatiently. I know I am late and I really do not need her to harp on me about my tardiness and what not. She's pretty in a very plain way and looks fresh out of college and I would really hate to sour her whole experience here at Vanderbilt with my less-than-cordial attitude.

"Ms Mundy is quite booked this afternoon and your delay to your scheduled appointment at two will set back all of her other engagements, Ms Evans—"

I interrupt in a frosty voice. "I know and I am terribly sorry but I just simply can_not_ reschedule this meeting—"

Ms Trusclair then has the nerve to interrupt me with an equally frosty voice. "Well, tough luck for you, but that seems to be the only option since you are not allowed to override another scheduled meeting time—"

I step up to the desk and glare at the receptionist. With a poisonously sweet smile, I say, "What if I—"

Strong, warm hands wrap around my midsection and drag me back from the desk. "Lee-lee, I need you to grab a hold of your temper," Jamie whispers urgently into my ear. "You can't threaten everyone when things don't go your way. And you most certainly cannot cause any damage to the staff before you've even been officially enrolled here. Just relax, alright?"

I'm still tense in his arms and make no move at relaxing. "Don't you fucking dare tell me what to do," I spit out at him. Somewhere in the background, I hear Remy soothing that witch of a woman—remember, I use this term in the Muggle sense—and pacifying her about my temper which will not happen again. I snort. Like hell, it won't.

"Did I do that?" Jamie murmurs mildly.

Soft, fuzzy warm feelings cloud my head. I have no idea what they are doing in there besides muddling my sense of reason. "Do what?" I ask back stupidly, my tone noticeably calmer and softer. I've completely forgotten why I was mad. The only thing I know is that I am in Jamie's arms, my back is pressed gently to his chest, and it feels rather nice.

He chuckles, the low sound vibrating deliciously through me. Did I already say that I enjoyed standing like this? "Focus, Lee-lee," Jamie says, a smirk evident in his voice.

"PDA is not tolerated on campus," Ms Trusclair's voice cuts through my hazy thoughts. Instantly I am alert as if the sound of her talking had dropped an ice-cold pitcher of water on me.

"This is a college campus, of course there is going to be PDA," I roll my eyes at her insolence.

Before she can retort, though, a door further into the building opens and out walks a middle-aged woman with bright, intelligent hazel eyes. She oddly looks familiar. I'm trying to put my finger on who she reminds me of, but then she frowns at Ms Trusclair, scattering my thoughts as a sense of smug satisfaction overcomes me. Behind me, Jamie chuckles again.

"I'm going to go now," he tells me. "There's no need for me to be here in the Admission's office if I don't have a meeting."

"You were here for the donuts," I remind Jamie.

He laughs. "Remy already ate them all, Lee-lee. I'll see you around." He told me goodbye before turning around and then he is gone.

"See you again," I mumble to the ghost of Jamie's presence.

"You had donuts?" the familiar-looking woman asks sharply, piercing Remy with her amber gaze.

He shuffled his feet sheepishly and didn't look her in the eye. "Er...maybe?"

She shook her head at him. "And you didn't save me one. Well, just for that I'm going to make sure Lunar Astronomy is all booked and that you have no chance of enrolling in the fall semester course."

"What?" Remy splutters. "You can't do that! That's blackmail!"

She turns her head and winks at me. "Watch me," she responds back. Then she smiles at me and introduces herself. "Hello, Lily Evans. My name is Athena Mundy. I'm head of Undergrad Admissions here at Vanderbilt, and regardless of what those two fools who brought you in said or what my receptionist said, I would be delighted to proceed to our meeting no matter just how late you are."

Athena...Minerva. McGonagall. Now that I am looking closely, I can see exactly how much Ms Mundy looks like my former Transfiguration professor. Except...she doesn't. She's like the mirror-image of Professor McGonagall but the polar opposite. Instead of stern, frown lines that I am used to, there are lines of laughter gracing her face.

"You're...you are..." I stutter out incoherently.

Ms Mundy smiles. "Mhmm. My twin has said a lot about you. Come inside to my office, dear, and let's continue on to our meeting. I'm sure you have a lot of questions."

_Well, that's an understatement, _I think as I follow her speechlessly down into the hall. Now I understand why Professor McGonagall pushed me into the direction of applying to Vanderbilt. Things that were once jumbled are starting to make sense now.


	4. Long Hot Summer

**Author's Note: Some might call this chapter fluff, some might say it has crucial character/plot development... I really don't care what you call it as long as you read, favourite, subscribe, and review(:  
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**To anon reviewer who I will keep calling Einstein cos you are one yummy package of those rainbow pastel sweets called Smarties~ I'm glad I made you LOL at Jamie and Remy and dammit, now I can't surprise you with the name Siri. (I'm offended. You thought I was going to name a character after that annoying automated person who can't do shit on the iPhone? Just kidding. I'm not offended at all.) Your theory is certainly interesting. Good guess!...but, no. Patience, Einstein, and you'll soon see what you have guessed wrong (and maybe right...?). Not in this chapter, though. Sorry if I got your hopes up. And yay! You like my Lily! It makes me happy to read that cos humourous and me are not synonyms. I speak fluent sarcasm, and it seems to be that Lily does too.  
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**Disclaimer: I own Harry Potter; JK...Rowling actually does. (Haha, I made a punny with JK's name!) Keith Urban owns Long Hot Summer.  
**

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Chapter Four: Long Hot Summer

I sweep a tired hand through my unruly, tangled auburn hair. I had stayed up late talking to Saffy and my parents which was rather lovely, and I even talked to Petunia, which, if I say so myself, is something I could have done without. In my honest opinion, sleep is more important than debating whether ivory or eggshell went better with my sister's pale complexion. And when Petunia bombed me out of the blue with the news that she's to marry that whale she calls her boyfriend...long story short, I almost shit a brick in horror. Now I have to be _related_ to that damn fucker. Cue massive shudder.

I feel as if I don't even know my sister these days. She's all uppity and hoity-toity and super-concerned with her image. And she's always judging people like she is so much better than everyone else. But Merlin, could she do any worse by marrying that ugly ass piece of shit she lovingly refers to as 'Verny'? I swear, if Petunia even _considers_ puce-coloured bridesmaid dresses (she thinks they're oh-so-couture and calls them safari green) I might just have to slit Vernon's throat in his sleep so the wedding will be called off. I don't think there is anything morally wrong with my plan. Is there?

Alright, alright. Maybe I'm being a little harsh and extreme. Vernon's an alright bloke (rather dull, self-centred, workaholic, obese to the point of making mini-earthquakes wherever he steps, never follows through with a New Year's resolution about exercise or dieting) but if that is what Petunia can live with the rest of her life, then by all means she can marry that rude and arrogant fat asshole. See, I use that as a term of endearment. I think it means I know him so well that I can probably nickname him by now.

Vermin. How is that for a nickname? I think it suits him rather whale. Oops, I mean 'well'. Oh, who I am fucking around with? I meant whale. He is a whale. He is The Whale. Stupid Vermin. Why did he have to choose _my_ life to weasel his way into?

And why on earth did it have to be my sister who managed to be dazzled by him? Petunia swears it was love at first sight when she saw him at her Uni campus cafeteria. I argued back that he was probably more focused on the perfectly good food my anorexic sister throws away than her overly-tweezed and heavily made-up face. That was when our conversation ended (she was the one who slammed the phone down and hung up, not me) last night.

And that is also why she has been demoted from her childhood nickname of Tuney to her given name Petunia. Because if it wasn't fucking clear last night, she is no longer my older sister who I could talk to about anything. Not that she was, anyways. Things haven't been right between us since I got accepted to Hogwarts. But now our relationship is even more on the rocks. I honestly do not give a shit if it means I get to opt out of wearing those nasty-ass puce dresses. I'm not even the one she chose to be her Maid of Honour. I doubt that she even wants me to go to her wedding anymore after our fight.

But who cares? Not me.

...Alright, I do. So sue me. I'm her only sibling, for Merlin's sake! It is not my fault that magic flows through my veins. She does not need to relentlessly keep reminding me that I am such a 'freak'. I miss Tuney. She was fun whenever she didn't have a wand up her ass. (Merlin, no, I was never the one who did that. That was always Sev.)

Speaking of, I wonder what that little Death Eater is up to. I am so glad in Fifth Year I burned every bridge I had with him. Hanging around with Snape would only get me killed. All that crazy Pureblood shit he was always spouting off made absolutely no sense to me if he was a half-blood. And it seemed to be that his creepy little posse of 'friends' liked to torture things for fun. Things like Muggleborns.

And wow, Sev really knew how to wound me. I never thought that he would be the one to remind me of my blood status; not after all the times his friends bullied me and he was always the one to reassure me that my Muggleborn heritage meant absolutely nothing to him. What a load of bullshit. As far as I know, he is the worse one out of them all.

Thank Godric Potter never said 'I told you so' after that awful incident by the lake in Fifth Year after Sev had spat out that I was a _Mudblood_. I know what I am, Snape, thank you very much. It just seemed horribly cruel that after years of Potter's warnings and insistences that Sev wasn't to be trusted that I would only believe Potter after my supposed best friend lashed out at me for trying to save his scrawny, unforgiving little ass from said Potter's pranking. Oh, the twisted irony in my life.

My iPhone buzzes on my nightstand table. I still have not figured out the logistics of the stupid piece of technological shit and now it won't stop reminding me every five minutes if I do not open my unread text message. Godric, it's probably not even that important if someone had to text me at the ungodly hour of ten in the morning.

I groan and moan and tiredly rub my bloodshot eyes. I got absolutely zero hours of sleep last night on account of phoning my family very late to compensate for the time zone differences and that Petunia was creating unnecessary drama between us as per usual. I reach a hand over and blindly grope for the little annoying piece of technology that keeps vibrating.

_Jamie Taylor: Morning, Lee-lee. I know chances probably are you are not fully awake (if at all) but if you were, I was wondering if..._

Fucking preview screen. Why couldn't I just see the whole message at once? I squint at the too-bright phone screen and slid a finger sideways to unlock it. Way too much work for a non-morning person like me.

His whole message then pops up onto the screen. _Jamie Taylor: Morning, Lee-lee. I know chances probably are you are not fully awake (if at all) but if you were, I was wondering if you wanted to meet at Starbucks across from the downtown B&N. If so, see you at quarter past._

With another loud groan, I unnecessarily check the time once more. 10.02 is what my phone reads. Thirteen fucking minutes is all I have if I want to go meet Jamie for coffee. I am so screwed time-wise, but I'll meet up with him anyways. I can practically hear a caramel frappuccino calling my name.

I drag myself out of my bed and rummage through my closet for my favourite pair of navy blue Abercrombie sweatpants. I change out of my pyjamas and then throw on the sweats and a white lace-edged camisole. I don't do much with my tangled, frizzy, and uncontrollable hair—it just goes up into a messy I-don't-give-a-fuck bun. It's not like I am trying to impress anybody, least of all Jamie. If he cannot deal with me at my worst then I might have to call off this whole friendship thing we've been having for the past three weeks now. And in all honesty, I really do not want to do that.

10.06. I've done pretty good. I grab my car keys, trusty faded black Chuck Taylors, and piece-of-shit iPhone before I am out my apartment door. I look like shit, feel like hell, and I have absolutely no make-up on. I bet little kids will run home screaming to their mummy's that today isn't Halloween if they catch sight of me. But as my bun says, I don't give a fuck.

Eight minutes later, I'm walking out of the blistering summer heat and into the heavenly coffee-scented-air-conditioned air of Starbucks. Shit, I think the temperature change is so different from outside that I just might be nipping through my camisole. Don't get me wrong, I love Starbucks air, but because I have the worst fucking luck in the world, I forgot a damn bra in my haste to get my ass over to the café. Now that nasty pervert wearing a scary-ass black trench coat of all things is leering at me from his seat over in the corner. I grimace and cross my arms over my chest. Unfortunately, that just makes me have some major Kim Kardashian cleavage going on. That pimply secondary school kid to my right is typing furtively on his laptop and wiggling his eyes appreciatively at me. Stupid little fucker.

I huff. Why the bloody hell did I forget a bra? I huff again and check the time. 10.16. The Starbucks line is pretty long and hasn't moved at all since I entered the café. I have to wait for forever with this underage kid ogling at my boobs. Merlin, I knew I should have stayed in bed.

There's an appreciative hand groping my left ass cheek. Well, not appreciative on my end. I whirl around and give the most-likely-sixteen-years-old wanker my best bitch glare. He cowers and immediately removes his hand. However, I'm not quite done reprimanding him about his inexcusable behaviour.

"Do you fucking mind?" I spit out. He should be thankful that he is a Muggle and I cannot hex his puny little balls off or something. "Weren't you ever taught how to treat a lady?"

He smirks back, his confidence growing as he continues to stare at my boobs and not make eye contact with me. "Weren't you ever taught how to dress like one? If you look like a slut, you better accept the attention that comes along with it."

Oh no, he did not just fucking say that. I narrow my eyes at the wanna-be-hipster (hasn't anyone ever told him that guys can_not_ pull of sagging skinny jeans?) and am so prepared to assault him with a firm kick to his oxygen-deprived balls. However, an annoyingly familiar deep voice in my ear says with a chuckle:

"What happened to being classy and not trashy, Evans?"

Godric, of _course_ Jamie would pick this time to come interrupt what seemed like a very promising ass-kicking. I growl at him and bite out: "Call me that again and your ass will permanently be black and blue, Taylor."

He _still_ has the nerve to laugh at me. "Hot damn, I knew redheads were fiery but you're like the epitome of the stereotype, Lee-lee."

"Fuck you," I snarl, complete with my middle finger raised at him. In front of me, a mum turns around from where she was rocking her baby in her arms. There's a scandalous and disapproving look on her face and she not-so-subtly looks down at her child and mouths the words _Watch your language_ to me. It takes everything in me not to lash out at her, but I realise that I am the one in the wrong and I bite hard on my lower lip so I don't yell obscenities at her.

"Hey," Jamie says, his face sobering up. "Calm down. I know you haven't taken your chill pills yet and I can tell that you woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning but forreals, Lily. Lower your temper or something."

The fact that Jamie has become the closest thing in America that resembles a best friend in these past few weeks is the only reason why I do not bitch-slap him or yell at him for telling me what to do. I just shoot him a death glare from narrowed eyes and pretend to focus on the Starbucks menu.

"Here," Jamie slips off his grey Hollister hoodie and offers it to me after noticing my uncontrollable shivering. The jumper is still warm from his body heat. "Put this on. You're freezing your ass off in here."

Normally I would argue, but I cannot complain against his statement. I accept the hoodie without quarrel—most likely because it is bloody amazing how warm it is and how it smells deliciously like him—and shrug it on. Of course it is a couple sizes too big but now that secondary schooler has stopped eyeballing my chest as well as the creepy trench coat dude in the corner.

"Miss? What can I get for you?" the barista behind the counter asks.

"I'd like a caramel frappuccino," I say and reach into my back pocket for my wallet so I can pay for my drink. My hand just ends up groping my ass. Where the fuck is the pocket? But more importantly, where is my wallet? I mentally smack my face as I realise that I've forgotten something yet again. This time, I have just so happened to leave my damn wallet on my bedside table.

I turn to Jamie, utterly mortified and my face in flames. "Godric, I hate to impose on you Jamie, but I forgot my bloody wallet at home and I was wondering if—"

He grins crookedly at me. "What kind of date would this be if I didn't pay for you?" he jokes. Jamie steps up next to me and then orders his own coffee. He makes a big deal of ostentatiously passing the money over to the barista and winks exaggeratedly at me. "I've got you covered, babe," he faux-leers. I shake my head at his antics, a grateful smile on my face. Jamie really is a good friend.

Once we receive our coffee in record time, we search for a table to sit at or, even better, one of those fuck-awesome brown Italian leather chairs. It must be because of Jamie's presence that we are able to score the best seat in the café right next to the floor-to-ceiling glass windows that offer the paramount view of downtown Nashville because, as earlier proven, I seem to be shit out of luck in situations like this.

"So," Jamie begins pleasantly as we settle down into the legendary brown chairs that most Starbucks patrons fight over. "How have you been lately, Lee-lee?"

I have seen Jamie off-and-on during these past three weeks since our run-in at Vanderbilt. Sometime during then we traded numbers and he became the American guy version of Saffy—in English, he's like my new best friend. Us two and Remy hung out four days ago at the downtown zoo and that has to be the most fun I have ever had since the time the Hogwarts Marauders and I pranked the Slytherins by magicking their robes into the Gryffindor House colours. I never really understood why the Slytherins were freaking out—who doesn't want to graduate with a gold tassel, right? (Never mind the ridiculous sparkly gold rhinestone lion bedazzled in the centre of their robes or the worst possible shade of maroon covering them from head-to-toe.) That incident must have been one of the few and far between times that Potter and I actually got along. Mind you, it didn't last for long since he asked me out for the 647th time (but who's counting?) during his Salutatorian speech. (I was Valedictorian.)

But now I am a nobody here in Nashville and just another freshman attending Vanderbilt. I shake the ice in my iced coffee a bit before I answer Jamie's question. "I've been good. I am still in shock that the Head of Undergrad Admissions is my former professor's twin," I say to Jamie.

"I know," he grins. "Small world, right? You never know when you'll run into somebody that you have some sort of connection with."

I shake my head. "It's crazy. But I guess my former professor, Professor McGonagall, informed Ms Mundy about me because she's been such an angel and bending a lot of rules for me." It is so inconvenient that I could never go into the specifics about these bent rules because of the Ministry condition that I hide my capabilities as a witch if I talk to other non-magical people. I subtly brighten up my tone, though, so Jamie has no idea to be suspicious of my sudden mood change. "Like, Ms Mundy is allowing me to keep my apartment even though all students are supposed to live on campus. And she's been so sweet to help me coordinate my schedule to fit what I want to major in."

"Oh?" Jamie asks interestedly. "You already know what you want to major in?"

"Yeah," I confirm. "Vanderbilt's like insanely well-known for its medical programme. I've been thinking about studying to become a Healer, but I want to specialise in figuring out the specific chemistry and physics behind all the treatments used to heal Mu—humans." I pray to Merlin that Jamie didn't catch my slip when I almost said 'Muggles'.

Thankfully, he does not call me out on it. "That's certainly interesting," he says thoughtfully as he takes a sip of his drink. "Hmm. I've never really thought about the procedures and treatments used to heal. I guess I've been subconsciously thinking that it was some sort of magic that healed humans."

Bloody hell. I had just taken a giant gulp of frappuccino when Jamie mused that aloud, and once I heard the m-word, coffee spluttered out of my mouth.

"Lee-lee? Are you okay?" he leaps up immediately, concern etched all over his face. He grabs a bunch of napkins from a conveniently placed napkin dispenser on the side table between the chairs and proceeds to clean up the mess I have made.

I nod unconvincingly. "It was a bit too cold to swallow," I lie.

He accepts my lie without question and continues to wipe up the coffee I have sprayed everywhere. Jamie gets up off the floor and then throws away the soiled napkins. "Today's not your day, huh?" he says sympathetically once he returns and sits back into his leather chair.

I shake my head 'no'. "Nothing seems to be going right," I moan. "And thanks for cleaning up my mess. You didn't have to do that."

"It's what friends do," he says with that charming crooked grin of his. His hazel eyes twinkle mischievously. "At least it wasn't projectile vomit or anything. I have been Remy's clean-up buddy for far too long after he's had one too many and trust me, the shit that comes out of his mouth is something I would never step near with a five-metre pole if I wasn't his best mate."

I laugh and grimace at the mental image Jamie creates. I then take a deep breath before I unload all my problems onto him. "But seriously. I hate my life right now. My sister detests me which really isn't anything new but it still hurts because she is family, you know? And she's getting married to this dipshit who probably loves his food more than her anorexic ass. I can't see how they can love each other at all! Just because he's, like, CEO of some hotshot drill company means shit to me. Petunia is this ladder-climbing socialite who focuses on country clubs and afternoon tea instead of her family and all she ever talks about is her wedding which is supposedly going to win an award or something. But who the fuck cares? She should be marrying someone that loves her as much as she deserves! And Godric, if I have to listen to wedding plans for another minute I might just combust!"

Jamie raises his eyebrows at me. "I thought every girl planned their dream wedding since they were a tot?"

"Well call me an exception," I snort. "Friends, family, and food is all I need. I couldn't give a rat's ass if there were fifty different types of flowers or if the colours don't match. And there is no way in hell that I am wearing heels. Fucking death traps are what those are."

Jamie laughs. "I like that," he chuckles. "Low maintenance. At least you won't be turning into a bride-zilla or anything."

"Those girls are ridiculous," I say with a roll of my eyes. "I think weddings are so over-rated. All this drama and obsessing and money spent just for one day of your life."

He shrugs. "I guess you could look at it like that. But you know, it's also the day you pledge to love somebody for forever and always. I think that makes it just a little bit special, Lee-lee."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Think whatever sappy romantic shit that you want but I'm going to stick to my opinion," I say with a nonchalant wave of my hand.

Jamie just shakes his head and takes another sip of his coffee. I mirror his movements and take a nice, long pull of my frappuccino. I'm surprised that the drink hasn't turned into slush by now. I am pretty sure we've been talking for over forty-five minutes.

"So what sorts of mischief have you and Remy managed lately?" I ask.

Jamie's eyes widen almost imperceptibly but I catch the motion nonetheless. Huh. Does that phrase bother him? I picked it up after I heard Potter and his Marauders over-use it all throughout my Hogwarts years.

"Er, nothing much," Jamie coughs out. "The biggest thing we've done lately was that infamous trip to the zoo. Who knew lions were so courageous and brave?" I want to pipe in and say that I already knew that an account that I was once a Gryffindor and our House mascot is the lion, but I couldn't really explain that to a Muggle now, could I? "A friend of ours from our Scottish boarding school is flying in next week, though. All three of us will undoubtedly be doing all sorts of manly things once he lands. Got any good suggestions that we could do with him around Nashville?" he continues.

"Me?" I ask incredulously. "Do I look like I know of 'manly things', Jamie?"

"Good point," he smirks.

I roll my eyes and sip my coffee contemplatively. I've nearly slurped up all that I can get out of the venti-sized cup. "Hmm. Well, what does he like to do?"

Jamie furrows his brow. "Women," he says decisively after a moment.

"Oh dear Godric," I laugh. "Don't introduce me to him, then. I'm not interested in a one-night stand."

There's a familiar twinkle in Jamie's eyes, but he doesn't say anything.

"Obviously you have to take him clubbing. I heard from a freshman girl I met on campus—Adelaide Bradley is her name—that _Phoenix_ or _Azkaban _are the best places to go in Nashville," I list off. "Paintballing is also pretty manly, judging from what my guy friends in grade school tell me. And you know, if you're like completely desperate, go out-of-state and go white-water rafting or hiking or camping."

Jamie smiles devilishly. "Clubbing, paintballing, and Call of Duty are probably what we're going to end up doing. Not women." He stands up with a loud stretch and throws his coffee cup away. "Thanks, Lee-lee for your amazing brilliance." He flips his left wrist over so he can check the time—oh, so _now_ he decides to wear his watch—and says aloud: "It's 11.28. I have to go meet up with Remy at noon and help him finalise his fall term schedule as well as plan as many pranks and ways that we can torture Cole. I'm glad we got to see each other again. Go back to bed, Lee-lee, get some sleep, and maybe the next time you wake up the world will realign itself." He comes over to my chair and gives me a hug. "Don't hate the world so much. Everything happens for a reason. You'll call or text me if you need to ramble or rant?"

I return his hug and nod against his shoulder. "Of course. You do the same, alright? Stay safe, Jamie."

"Yup," he says as he withdraws away. He raises his hand to his temple and salutes me. "I'll see you later, Lee-lee, okay?"

"Okay," I say. He has already left the café to jump back into his busy life before the second syllable of the word has even escaped my mouth.


	5. Come Over

**Author's Note: Sorry if this formatting gets on your nerves. I tried to make it as realistic to the iPhone formatting as I could. Jamie's and Saffy's messages are left-aligned; Lily's messages are centre-aligned.**

**Einstein: I love your theories! Keep telling me all of them! (: Are you totally confused by all these names yet? Jamie, Remy, Lily, Cole...LOL I'm having too much fun with this fic. I suck at keeping secrets though, so if I don't stop rambling soon I'm gonna give away the whole plot! Oops. AND I HATE PETER. LIKE, EW. I could give a rat's ass about that little fucker. If I ever decide to insert that creep into one of my fics (insert massive shudder) I'll probably have to kill off the rest of my characters because who can possibly survive with that gross sewer rat breathing the same air as you? That kid needs some serious rat poison shoved down his throat. HE CAN GO DIE IN A HOLE FOR ALL I CARE. Nobody can even pronounce his name right without sneering. That's just pathetic.  
**

**So, yeah. ****As per usual, French translations are at the bottom.**  


**Disclaimer: As always, the HP universe belongs to JKR. _Come Over _is sung by Kenny Chesney.  
**

* * *

Chapter Five: Come Over

From the super-shitty iPhone of Lily Evans~

**_9.10 AM Monday, June 24_**

Monday mornings have never been a favourite of mine.

You fucking woke me up out of a really good dream just for a shitty message, asshole.

I can make it up to you. Give me your address, Lee-lee, and I'll bring you a caramel frappuccino and some doughnuts at ten.

Forgiven.  
31 Holly Wood Apartments. Phoenix Feather Trails, Nashville, TN 62740

**_14.03 PM Monday, June 24_**

How's Remy? He looked a little ill somewhere between the enchiladas and the re-fried beans at lunch.  
I'm glad he went home early. Being sick in the summer heat sucks balls.

Im pretty sure he'll be alright. He has a weak immune system and gets a cold about once a month. Nothing you should worry yourself over.

If you say so.  
Hey, are you okay? You were pretty quiet this morning

Yeah, I'm fine

Jamie...

What

Nothing. If you don't want to talk about it, we wont.  
Thanks for the brekkie of coffee and doughnuts, tho. That was really sweet of you.

I try ;)

LOL

**_22.24 PM Monday, June 24_**

Bloody hell! Why do all females have to be cursed with this sort of fuckery every month?  
What's even worse is that there is no mint choco chip ice cream in my freezer. HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO SURVIVE THESE NEXT 5-7 DAYS W/O MY ICE CREAM?!  
The Notebook is on the telly. Time to drool over Ryan Gosling and bawl my eyes out at all the sad parts (i.e: the whole film)  
My hormones are seriously fucked up. Why did you have to bring him up in the post card? Now he's all that I can think about...

Er, Lee-lee? I think you sent all these msgs to the wrong person.

Oh. My. Godric.  
Fuck my life.  
I'm terribly sorry, Jamie. I meant to send these to Saffy, my best girl mate in Paris but...  
Oh, bugger. I'm such a spaz.  
You prob did not want to hear any of what I just said.  
Sorry, again

Haha, no worries. I gtg, talk to you soon

[-]

My thumbs hover over the empty text box so I can apologise once more but I figure that it is best if I just leave the poor bloke alone by refraining from mentioning the instance again. I know guys cannot tolerate any sort of mention about a girl's hormones or period or anything, and there I went, blabbing my whole sob story because today is Day 1 of the bloody week of hell (no pun intended) and that means Complete Emotional Mess Day.

I sigh and gather my tangled hair into a ridiculously high messy bun on the top of my head. Back when we were in the same country, Saffy and I were synchronised with this and we would veg out at either my house or hers in sweatpants, a baseball T, and messy high ponytails or buns. It was our best friend tradition to eat pails of ice cream—mint chocolate chip for me; chocolate chip cookie dough for her—while we watched chick-flicks or romantic comedies on the telly. If we really felt like crying or being depressed, we would gossip about our (non-existent) love-life and watch Nicholas Sparks films. It was what we always did ever since we were thirteen and had our very first Day 1: Complete Emotional Mess Day. That's why I was supposed to be texting Saffy about my problems because it just didn't feel right to have a Day 1 without her. But apparently I texted my other best friend who just so happened to be a guy. Oops.

On-screen, Noah and Allie are in the middle of their infamous kissing-in-the-pouring-rain scene. They make me so jealous with their believable acting. As per usual, the tears start to run freely down my face as I pathetically wonder why no guy ever went to special lengths for me like Noah does for Allie. I reach for a couple tissues from the strategically placed Kleenex box on the coffee table in front of me. Today is definitely a cry-and-depressing Day 1. I need my best friend with me. And a big pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream.

I open my piece-of-crap iPhone—why the hell did it not tell me I was texting Jamie and not Saffy?—and start up a texting conversation with her because I desperately need her right now.

[-]

From the super-shitty iPhone of Lily Evans~

**_23.11 PM Monday, June 24_**

Saaaaaaaaaafffffffffffffffyy yyyyyyyy! Why does technology hate me?

What happened this time, Lily-boo? Was it your super-shitty phone? Or your dumb-fucker computer? How about your good-for-nothing-asshat telly?

Don't hate on the telly. Ryan Gosling is on it shirtless right now. I should think that makes up for the countless number of times the stupid telly blacks out on me during a lightning storm.  
But I digress. It was the damn iPhone this time. I meant to text you all my Day 1 probs but I ended up texting Jamie

Jamie? That bloke who you went w/ on a coffee date yday?

Yes.  
But it wasn't a date.  
He's the closest thing I have to a best mate over here.  
We're just friends

Then he shld be alright w/ hearing about your Day 1 probs

But Saf, he's a *bloke*  
He doesn't know what I'm going thru. He prob thinks Im being a bitch just bc Im a sarcastic asshole  
He can't sit w/ me on the couch and make fun of losers and not care what I look like with a mud mask on  
I miss you, Saffy.

You sure that's not the hormones talking?

Safron! That wasn't very nice

Sorry. I guess.  
Not everything is about you, Lily.  
I miss you too.  
Things are different in Paris. Two Muggleborn's were murdered last night. Death Eater work, the _François Ministère of Magique_ says.  
The war is coming, bestie. We're going to be #1 targets. You do realise this, don't you? That even tho you are in _Amérique_ you aren't going to be safe. That the world isn't rainbows and sunshine and worrying about boys anymore.

I know. It scares the shit out of me, but I'm as helpless as a Squib right now.  
I want to fight, Saffy. That's why I'm studying the chemistry and physics behind magic. I know that everything about magic has not been completely discovered, and I have a feeling that there's something eluding us, something that could be vital in tipping the scales in favour of the Light Side.  
I know you don't respect or completely understand my reasoning for being in a Muggle environment while there is a magical war raging on, but please, Saffy, this is what I want to do. What I need to do.

I just don't want to see your name listed in the Obituary anytime soon

Way to be morbid, Saf. But the same goes for you. You're safe, right?

Nobody is safe anymore

You know what I mean

Yeah  
Sorry. I guess it's an emotional Day 1 for me too.  
I love you, bestie. I only want what's best for you. Lay low. Don't talk to strangers

Love you too, bestie. Yours till the sun flowers

[-]

Today started out innocently enough. I have no idea how it escalated to be such an emotion rollercoaster. I woke up all pissed and shit because of my fucking iPhone was beeping incessantly and ruined the best eleven hours of sleep I've ever managed to have since my grammar school years. Then I was on cloud nine because Jamie decided to be a super-totally-amazing best friend and bring me my number one favourite breakfast: doughnuts and coffee. And because he is just so abso-fucking-lutely stellar, he managed to snag Starbucks—hey, that shit is expensive. We hung out for awhile at my flat, watching Monday morning cartoons on the telly as we ate breakfast. I was completely comfy in my typical summer pyjamas (a tank top and booty shorts) and Jamie was all dressed for the day in one of his preppy boy outfits. I mean, honestly, somebody needs to tell him that you absolutely do _not_ pop the collar of an Oxford button-down shirt anymore. And by somebody, I do not mean me. I like watching him be awkward. It makes me feel better about myself, which is totally wrong, but he's my best friend which makes it okay now. I think.

He stayed at my flat all morning until we both received a text from Remy asking about meeting up for lunch with him at some brand-new Mexican place just on the outskirts of downtown Nashville. I was all for it since Mexican food was never something I've had unlimited access to before, but Jamie was suspiciously apprehensive about this place. I had rolled my eyes at him and called him a no-fun pussy-bitch (apparently he hated to be called that; who knew?) and it seemed to be that I insulted his manly honour or something ridiculous like that because the next thing I knew, we were on our way to go have lunch with Remy.

I knew I should have listened to Jamie's earlier misgivings when Remy started turning a little green between bites of his canned enchiladas with plastic Velveeta cheese on top and nuked re-fried beans. But of course my stupid pride got in the way and I argued with Jamie about the quality of the food (even though it was so obvious that this place Remy had suggested was worth shit) and whether or not Jamie was right to be chary about the restaurant before he had even stepped foot into the building. Meanwhile, Remy choked something out that sounded like 'food poisoning' before he made a mad dash for the loo where I assume he promptly heaved all his guts out. Poor guy.

So then, I was outrageously pissed at Jamie (by then I had forgotten the reason why) and I paid my bill and left before Remy had even surfaced from the restroom. Not to mention, my stomach hurt like a motherfucker too (but that was the cramps and most likely had nothing to do with the dog food shit the restaurant served). It was only when I got home and had a questionable craving for mint chocolate chip ice cream did I realise today was Day 1.

Enter the texting fiasco on my fuck-tard iPhone. And then of course, now I am even more embarrassed about everything that has happened between Jamie and me today. Does all my shitty behaviour make me eligible for the Worst Best Friend award yet?

Not to mention my other best friend, Saffy, who had me all over the place with her yes-no-maybe-so attitude in her texts. I know her mean streak only appears on Day 1 because typically she is a fluffy ball of kitten fur any other day, but still, hearing all those stinging words hurt. Damn hormones. Saffy is so concerned for me and she means well, and even though I really don't want to hear how self-absorbed I am or how I am so out-of-touch with the magic world, I guess I do need a wake-up call every now and then to re-focus my priorities.

But not yet. Because all I really care about this very second is the fact that there is no fucking pint of sweet, delicious, creamy mint-and-chocolate ice cream in my freezer. I swear, these cramps are making me all bloated and shit just because I don't have a sugar-high yet. It is days like these that I absolutely hate being a girl.

I stare sourly and dejectedly at the film on the telly. Noah and Allie are breaking up again. I forgot why. I really don't care anymore. Allie's being a spoiled little rich bitch; she deserves it. And there I go again on another bipolar mood swing. Fucking periods.

The doorbell to my flat suddenly rings. I scream, totally unprepared for the loud noise interrupting my miserable time alone. And, because my lack of coordination is just so fucking stellar, I also manage to fall of the couch and land my poor ass on the hardwood floor.

"Lee-lee, it's just me!" I hear Jamie's voice call out from the other side of the door.

I groan and stand up a bit wobbly. I am pissed off that I cannot seem to be able to be antisocial for at least two hours today and my ass is screaming obscenities at me for being so damn clumsy. I yank open the front door with an unenthusiastic growl. "What the bloody hell do you want?" I mutter, arms folded hostilely across my chest.

Jamie flashes me his trademark crooked smile. "You didn't seem to be in the best of moods when I was conversing with you earlier, and seeing that I just so happened to be in your neighbourhood, I thought I would stop by and say hi to my favourite person in the whole wide world."

I arch an eyebrow. "Like hell you were in my neighbourhood."

"You got me," he admits, grin still in place. He reaches down into the plastic bag he is holding and out comes a heavenly pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream. Immediately I begin to salivate with lust at the sight of the magic little container, but I refuse to show Jamie how much I need that pint. "You made such a big deal about how the world was going to end if you didn't get your mint chocolate chip ice cream, so I figured I would put you out of your misery."

"I never said that the world was going to end," I argue back and snatch the ice cream out of his hands. So much for not letting him know how much that container of ice cream affected me.

He rolls his eyes at me. "Semantics."

I grab his hand and tug him into my flat because he's my best friend here in America and I can do shit like this if I want to without being judged by nosy neighbours. "You know, I should probably thank you for this lovely surprise visit. But I'm not going to because you are still such a sarcastic little fucker to me. So I'm just going to grab a spoon, eat this ice cream happily, and call you an ass-kisser."

"Only if it's your ass," he quips back immediately like the typical guy that he is. Jamie lets go of my hand and immediately settles himself onto my couch. He loudly tosses his plastic bag on the floor and starts watching _The Notebook_ with rapt attention.

I stifle a laugh. I never would have suspected Jamie to be that rare guy who actually likes romantic movies. I shake my head in wonder and head over to the kitchen to get myself a spoon so I can start digging into this amazing pint of ice cream.

"Get me a spoon too!" I hear him say from his position on the couch.

"You're not eating any of my ice cream!" I yell back.

I can hear the laughter in his voice as he replies: "I brought myself some Caramel Macchiato ice cream from Starbucks since I figured that you would be a fat ass and not share with me."

I walk back into the living room and stick my tongue out at Jamie. "Better watch what you say, Jamie," I warn him. "I'm in total bitch-mode right now, and I'm not censoring anything I say even if you are my best mate."

He just gives me that fucking cocky grin. "Yeah, I know," he says. "That's why I brought you the ice cream. Figured I would get some brownie points as a best friend, and you sounded like your bitchiness would become uncontrollable if you didn't get some ice cream in you as soon as possible."

I don't know how to respond to that so I just toss a spoon at his face. Unfortunately, his reflexes are rather good and Jamie catches the utensil before it can hit him between the eyes. I am slightly disappointed; I think a giant-ass red bump on the bridge of his nose will compliment his face quite well. Since my attempt to maim him did not turn out so favourably, I settle for flopping onto him since he has sprawled himself out on my couch and left me no room to sit on a cushion.

"Oof!" he exclaims. Apparently I have caught him by surprise, and all the air in his lungs leave in a considerably noisy rush. "Godric, Lee-lee! How much do you fucking weigh?"

I pout and suddenly the hormones barrel into me as if they are a train that has no brakes. "I-I don't know!" I wail. "As much as someone who-who is a supposed fat ass would weigh!" There are tears running down my face now, and no, it's not because of _The Notebook_.

Jamie looks stricken. He obviously has no idea what to do with an emotional, teary, bitchy girl who is full of hormones. He sits up so I am in his lap and he pathetically tries to soothe me by rubbing gentle circles on my back and making shushing noises. "I didn't mean it, Lily," he tells me anxiously. His hazel eyes are troubled and he looks completely out of his element on my couch trying to comfort my crazy emotional ass. "You are beautiful and in no way a fat ass."

"It's too late!" I blubber out. "You already called me fat! You can't take it back!"

His eyebrows are knit together as he tries to make sense out of all the words I am bawling. "Lee-lee...," he says and continues rubbing my back.

I sniff, my tears slowly halting. I wipe my face and push myself away from him. "Forget it. I'm not worth all this trouble and tears. I know I'm a fat ass and that I shouldn't be eating a whole pint of ice cream just when cross country season is about to start, but dammit, see if I care!" I start to angrily and vigorously spoon in copious amounts of ice cream into my mouth. I glare at the telly, hating Noah and Allie that they eventually get a some-what perfect ending for their relationship even though their lives are quite tragic. If only I was a character in a book—then, just maybe my life wouldn't be so cataclysmic.

"Hey," Jamie says to me softly. "Don't put yourself down like that, Lily. You are special and amazing and I do not ever want to hear you doubt yourself again, alright?" He tilts my chin up so I am looking straight into his eyes. "Trust me, Lee-lee. You _are_ worth it."

I bite my lip and don't say anything. I still don't believe him. I know he is only saying all of this because he is my best friend. He probably doesn't mean a single word of what he said.

His phone buzzes and he pulls it out of his pocket. With a slight frown, he taps out a response and then looks over at me. "Remy just gave me word that Black's flight landed in Nashville a few minutes ago. Can I finish the film with you before I pick up B-Dawg from the airport?"

I look over at Jamie in surprise. "You're talking about your friend Cole, right?" Once I see Jamie's affirmative nod, I continue on with my thought. "You don't have to stay and watch this chick-flick with me. Go do your manly crap or whatever."

"But it's getting to the good part!" Jamie practically whines.

My depressing and negative feelings do a complete 180 as I let out a genuine laugh. "All right then," I say exaggeratedly. "You may stay."

"Yes!" he fist-pumps and continues shovelling in his ice cream as we finish _The Notebook _together, me still emotionally unstable, and him as giddy as a boy on Christmas Day.

[-]

From the super-shitty iPhone of Lily Evans~

**_2.25 AM Tuesday, June 25_**

Hey there, Sleeping Beauty. You passed out around the time Noah finished reading to grown-up Allie. All food rubbish you and I made has already been tossed into the bin, so don't worry your pretty little mind about it. Just wanted to check in on you. Cole says hi, btw.

**_10.53 AM Tuesday, June 25_**

I'm alive. So terribly sorry about all that emotional drama yday

All's good. I haven't been scarred for life yet, so that's a good thing, right?

^Yet

Haha, I was wondering if you wld catch that

Tell Cole I say hi back

Er, yeah. You might want to tell Remy to pass that msg along. I'm not on the friendliest of terms with that wanker just yet

Already? He just arrived from overseas.  
And I thought girl drama was bad (:

LOL  
Actually, Black was in the States before today. He just never told me

Oh.  
Did Remy know?

Not until this morning

So I take it you're pissed

To put it bluntly, yeah

Can I help with anything? You know, to re-pay off my debt of you being such a godsend & getting me that much needed mint choc chip ice cream

No, I'm good. Thanks, tho

But you'll let me know if anything comes up, right? I need to earn some best friend brownie points, dammit, and you're making it very hard to do, Jamie

You don't need any brownie points in the best friend category. You're doing an excellent job

Liar, liar, pants on fire

Why can you not take a damn compliment?

*shrugs* bc you don't mean it?

Wrong

I beg to differ. I'm the one who is always right.

Not in this case you aren't

Yeah, yeah, still don't believe you.  
Going back to sleep. Crying sure takes a lot of energy out of a girl.  
Text me a head's up if you're going to surprise me with Starbucks and doughnuts again.  
Not that I expect it today. Or tomorrow. Or the day after.

Duly noted ;)

SLEEEEEEEPPPINGGGGGGGG. ZZZZZZZZZZ...ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ...ZZZZZ

* * *

**Author's Note: The time jump is pretty big in this fic, but who cares? So what if Lily has only known Jamie for about a month now. She's alone in America and she needs a best friend and he just so happened to fill in that role. He's not a stranger (anymore) and they've had this great chemistry from the get-go. He's not a creep. He's not this little piece of shit named Peter Pettigrew who gets her killed in the canon books. He's Jamie and he brings her ice cream when she is being a whiny ass bitch to him. If only he existed in real life so he could do the same for me...  
**

**I'm still not completely sure on the pace of this fic (i.e: how fast to take this friendship/relationship between Jamie and Lily; when to introduce new characters; whether I should go fully in-depth on certain events or just gloss over weeks...) so, um, sorry? The good part is coming. I just don't know exactly when yet. I still have to build up Jamie's and Lily's friendship a bit more. But it's coming you guys. Keep calm and carry on with reading, reviewing, favouriting, alerting, recommending, and staring blankly at the screen. Oh, don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about ;)  
**

**Einstein: So there you go. If you didn't catch it, Cole Black. Like COAL BLACK. That kind of black. Ooh, I should shut up. You know your colours, right? (:  
**

**French translation:  
_François Ministère of Magique_ - French Ministry of Magic  
_Amérique_ - America  
**


	6. Tell Me How You Like It

**Author's Note: ****WARNING~ There are allusions to dark themes in Lily's past. Nothing too graphic but we're talking Death Eater cray-cray.**  


******In regards to the phone format:  
**Jamie**'s texts are like this and left-aligned  
**_Saffy_**'s texts are like this and left-aligned**  
Cole**'s texts are like this and** **left-aligned**  
_Remy_**'s texts are like this and left-aligned**  
Lily**'s texts are like this and centre-aligned**

**Einstein: You are way too sweet! Thank you so much for recommending me and thinking that I should have more reviews. Those enchanting words left me wonderstruck and eager to post this chapter (: And eek! You are so, so perceptive. So yes, obviously you *do* know your colours since you seem to know exactly what I am talking about... And oh yes, that elusive trolley guy... no, no I haven't forgotten about him. He'll show up sooner or later.  
**

**Disclaimer: Who actually reads this? It's like the same blahblahblah in every fanfic on this site. But whatevs, I'll be part of the cliche cos I go with the flow and all that chill stuff. So here goes: I DON'T HAVE BILLIONS AND BRAZILIANS OF POUNDS OR EUROS BECAUSE OF A BRILLIANT BOOK IDEA I WROTE ON A TRAIN, SO YEAH, MY NAME IS NOT JKROWLING AND I DON'T OWN HARRY POTTER. (hehe. My da always says the phrase billions and Brazilians instead of billions and gazillions.) The song 'Tell Me How You Like It' is by Florida Georgia Line.  
**

**And no, I was really lazy and did not bother to edit this chapter very much. Pardon my mistakes, please, and PM or review them to me so I can correct my lazy grammatical ass. Thanks!**

* * *

Chapter Six: Tell Me How You Like It

From the super-shitty iPhone of Lily Evans~

**_19.25 PM Thursday, June 27_**

I miss the Eiffel Tower, Saffy

_Ikr! Esp going to the third level & laughing at all the clueless tourists_

Remember that time when we were fourteen and we pretended to be drunk and we freaked out all those _Italien _tourists?

_And they started swearing at us! But damn, their accents sounded _ravissant!

LOL. Of course you would notice that. I was too busy freaking out that the _policier_ walking around the third level was going to yell at us or something

_Psh. You're always caught up on the rules. You'd be *such* a great trouble-maker but you always think about the repercussions before you make any mischief_

At Hogwarts there were plenty of mischief-makers. My devilish skills were unneeded.

_Oh, yeah. James told me about how you were a boring prude_

That is a phrase James Potter would *never* say

_So you want his exact wording?  
He called you a no-fun pussy-bitch_

Strange. That's exactly what I said to Jamie a few days ago.  
He was pissed when I said that.

_Huh. Strange, indeed  
It's almost 3 in the morning in Paris. I should sleep or else my attitude will massacre everyone within a five-metre radius around me_

Always so dramatic. Go to sleep, Saffy. Text me when you're attitude goes back into hibernation mode ;)

_Of course. Yours till the rain bows._

**_20.58 PM Thursday, June 27_**

Jaaaaaaaaaaaammmmmmmmmiiiiii iiiiiiiieeeeeeeeee

Yes...?

Im bored

Really? I couldn't tell

Rude o_O

So...is there something you wanted, Lee-lee?

Yeah. Make me un-bored

LOL. Go bother Remy. He seems pretty bored too. Maybe you two could be un-bored together?

Do you not want to be bothered by me?

Er...no?

*sigh* If you put it that way...  
Have him text me first. I don't seem to have his #

Kk. Chick-Fil-A tmrw morning before the museum?

Yup. I'll come over to your flat at 11

But then we can't get those fuck-awesome chix mini's!

Here's an idea: *you* go early and get them; I sleep in & come over at 11

LOL how about no.

Well then. No chicken mini's.

Dammit.

Exactly

**_21.17 PM Thursday, June 27_**

_Unknown #: You said you were bored?_

Who is this? Remy?

_Unknown #: Who is this? Lily?_

Stop fucking around with me, loser, and just tell me who you are.

_Unknown #: That was a very Lily-like response. J told me you were bored. And yes, it's R_

REMYYY! HIIIIIIIII!

_C'mon, flower, give a guy some head's up before you bring out the caps lock_

WHHHYYY?

_Alright, now you're just doing that to mess with me_

Guilty as charged.  
So how are you? I see the food poisoning from that nasty Mexi restaurant hasn't killed you yet ;)

_How sweet of you to be concerned that I am not yet dead._

Oh, Remy. Sarcasm is *such* a bitch to convey over text

_It was worth a shot_

Too bad you missed  
So, honestly. You're going to live, right?

_Right :)_

Thank Godric  
Hey, since Im still bored (you're slacking off on your duty to make me un-bored, mister!) want to play a game? We're friends & I trust you and all that but I don't even know more than a pathetic little paragraph about you

_Back at you :) This game thing sounds good to me. How about the one where you say the first related thing that comes to mind?_

You mean word association? Yeah, sure.  
Er...university

_Expensive. Gold?_

Crimson. Blood?

_Steak. Rare?_

True love. Dream?

_Societal acceptance. Secret?_

Lie. Down?

_Town. London?_

Home. Holiday?

_Christmas. Tree?_

Save. World?

_Equality. Inimitable fact?_

I learned to horseback ride before I could walk.  
But hold up. You said equality? What gives?

_Impressive. Equestrian before pedestrian._

Shut up, Dr Seuss. Would you mind answering my question?

_Just tired of how the world judges. But you don't want to get me started on this topic. My mates have told me many times before that I exhaust this topic until it's useless to even try to argue against me_

No, no, I'm completely and wholly curious. Tell me.  
(And considering that your mates have the attention span of a goldfish...Im not at all surprised that they cannot spare a few moments of their time for a promising convo like this)

_Last chance to back out..._

Try me.

_Alright, then. I could prob write a fifteen metre essay on this. You sure you're prepared?_

Are you stalling, Moone?

_Would I ever do that?_

C'mon. Hit me with your best shot.

_*sigh* so demanding, Lily.  
I suffer from a disease that physically handicaps me every now and then. Because of it, I have a really weak immune system so you'll prob see me be sick more often than the other lads. And bc of this unfortunate handicap, others are wary of being near me (it is only transmittable through body fluids, you see) and are afraid that I pose as a health hazard to them. Long story short, I am a lone wolf, so to speak, bc people who learn of my condition (subconsciously I like to think) begin to treat me as if I am some sort of contagious and deathly germ. The world thinks that it would be a better place w/o people like me._

Oh, Remy, that's awful. You are a perfectly wonderful person and I know you would never harm anybody.  
I had a friend like that at my last school. He had a condition that seems to be like yours. But he had three special mates who would take no shit from others who treated him badly bc of his sickness. I hope Jamie would do the same for you.

_He does more than you know, flower._

I should hope so. He seems to be the type to give more than receive

_Exactly. You only find those type of people once in a blue moon._

Thank you so much for sharing your secret with me, Remy. Remember that I love you to the moon and back. You're also one of those rare special blue moon people. You are not alone. At all. You've got all your friends (me, Jamie, Cole, and prob loads others back in the UK) who will revive you and personally kill you ourselves if you even *consider* offing yourself again.

_You sure do get violent and threatening._

And you get suicidal.

_Fine, fine. Warning heeded.  
But if I may be so bold to ask, what made you so interested about the topic of equality?_

I have my own demons too.

_Everybody does. As long as they don't possess you..._

No, I don't think my demons do.  
I have an abnormal blood type; I guess my situation would be called that. My own sister thinks I'm a freak bc of my different blood. At my old school they had all this load of bullshit blood purity propaganda. I was never really accepted by them bc mine wasn't 'pure' or whatnot. There were even gangs and they would harass me bc of a blood type I can't control.  
Remy, it was horrible. They were masquerading around like they were some sort of neo-Nazi group. Even tho I'm not around them anymore, I still feel like they're watching me and plotting their next move.  
Oh, Godric, Remy, I'm getting freaked out right now. The things they used to do to me...I still have scars and nightmares.

_Lily. Stay put. I'm sending J over, alright?_

They called me a mudblood because I was dirty to them. My first year there, they poured boiling hot water over me to 'purify' me. And the curses they yelled at me in the hallways...the dungeons of torture they would put me through...

_Lily? Get yourself out of whatever memory your mind is trying to relive. I need you to be strong. I know it hurts but you've got to fight through it. Fight past it.  
Jamie's almost at your flat._

Tell him not to knock! They used to do it to signal which mudblood to go after...

[-]

My doorbell rang and even though I am prepared for the sound, I still scream like a banshee at the noise. I thought I was strong enough to tell Remy about the dark shadows of my past, but apparently I over-estimated myself. Nothing could ever save me from the nightmares and Death Eaters that used to torment me. That still do, apparently.

"Lily?"

I shiver in fear. I have to forcibly remind myself that the person on the other side of the door is only Jamie and not some Death Eater wanting to play a game of How-Close-To-Death-Can-This-Mudblood-Get-Without-Being-Avada'd. Thank Godric I lost that game every time. A fellow Gryffindor muggleborn named Juliette Montague had the unfortunate luck to win, and currently she is buried six feet under the ground.

"Lee-lee, are you alright?" his worried voice came rushing through my door.

I want to tell him that yes, I am brave and strong and have the courage of a lion, but right now I feel as weak as a defenceless kitten. "No," I whimper and try to block out the memories of all the hours of agony and torment the wanna-be Death Eaters at school put me through.

"Lee-lee...," he says softly. "Please let me in."

I shake my head vehemently. "I don't want you to see me like this!"

The concern is evident in his voice. His words are a bit strained and it is obvious that he is frustrated at my insistence that he remain on the other side of the door. "Lee-lee..." he pleads once more.

It really hurts to hear him so troubled all because of me and my fucked up past. Jamie truly is the sweetest guy friend that I have ever known. He makes me feel special which only serves to make me feel worse because what have I ever done to warrant such a thoughtful friend? I'm only me, Lily Émilie Evans. I am psychologically messed up because of the aspiring Death Eaters at Hogwarts who would stop at nothing to lower my self-esteem and self-image. I make up nicknames for strangers and am most definitely not a morning bird. I am from the UK just like some couple million people out in this big world, and I have magical powers. I'm no one special—a fact the Death Eaters love to emphasise to me—so why does Jamie treat me like I am extraordinary in the best way possible?

Not that I am complaining about this special treatment I am receiving from him, mind you. In fact, I bet he does the exact same thing for Remy or Cole. Minus the tears and the overly-girly displays of emotion, of course. I know Jamie has a masculine reputation he needs to uphold.

I hear him whisper something and then strangely the doorknob to my front door turns. I stare at the door in shock; I could have sworn that I had locked the door. I _know_ I locked the door. Jamie then strides through the entryway as cool as can be and immediately wraps me up in his strong, warm arms. All thoughts of the once-locked-but-now-unlocked door scatter from my brain as I go into sensory overload in his comforting hug.

He makes me feel safe. It must be his warmth or the way he holds me tightly to him in a stance that could be best described as (unnecessarily) protective. Or it could the faint traces of the cologne he wears: something with hints of amber and sandalwood and a woody musk. Or it could be his own personal scent that no perfume company could ever replicate and bottle up. If that ever did happen, I would probably be the first to buy the entire product line. In all honesty, I don't know what it is about Jamie, but I never want to leave his embrace.

Suddenly he pulls back ever-so-subtly. Jamie then tips my chin up so I am looking straight into his eyes. They are the colour of dark chocolate, and I find myself wanting to indulge and drown myself into those sparkling vibrant pools.

"Are you sure you are alright?"

Before I can censor the words coming out of my mouth, I blurt out: "Now I am." Aaaaand cue the inevitable blush that comes along with the mortifying embarrassment engulfing me. Two red roses of colour blossom on the apples of my cheeks, and I burrow my face into his chest to hide myself from Jamie who will be undoubtedly smirking at me right now.

"I'm glad I could help," he whispers into my hair, his warm breath tickling the shell of my ear. Instead of the smirk that I thought would be accompanying his voice I hear a shy smile of pleasure.

Together, we stand contentedly like this for awhile. Did I already mention that I never want to stop being wrapped up in Jamie's arms?

However, after a couple of minutes my foot begins to fall asleep. My left foot then tingles like little sparks from a firework are showering upon it. I don't want to disturb our little cosy moment together but the sparkly feeling in my foot is slightly painful and I shift my weight around in an attempt to relieve the throbbing a bit. Jamie notices my silly antics and the right side of his lips curl up in a half-smile. He doesn't say anything, though, and merely guides me to the couch in tactful silence. We sit on opposite ends of the couch, but I am close enough to see that he is internally laughing at me; the twinkle of amusement in those hazel eyes belies his true thoughts.

"In all seriousness," Jamie begins, his face sobering up quickly. He subtly leans in towards me and peers into my eyes earnestly. "You'll tell me the truth right? That you are honestly alright?"

My eyes flicker down to my lap. Shit. That was a subconscious reaction that I did not want him to see—I didn't want Jamie to know that I had been lying to him. I kept my true feelings about the Death Eater matter shut inside of me after he had somehow managed to unlock my front door and enter my flat. Considering all the things he has done for me, it would be completely rude and inconsiderate of me to, in turn, unload all my problems onto him. My lips were sealed on this issue and nothing could make me blab all my secrets to him. After all, it isn't his burden to carry.

"Lee-lee," he says in that wounded voice that makes me feel like a fresh, steaming pile of hippogriff shit. "Tell me what's up. Tell me what has reduced the fire inside of my favourite red-head."

At that, I grin. "The fire hasn't gone anywhere," I assure him cockily.

Jamie arches an eyebrow in turn. "Oh, really?"

I would keep playing along with our familiar banter but something tells me that Jamie won't give up with his interrogation until he knows what is going on in my life—now and in the past. I sigh and scooch over so my head is resting lightly upon his shoulder. "Remy told me about his condition," I say quietly.

"Oh, really?" Jamie says again but in a completely different tone. I don't think he realised that his whole body stiffened up when I shared that piece of information. "Did he...go into specifics?"

In response, I fish out my good-for-nothing iPhone out of my jeans pocket. I pull up the conversation and show it to Jamie so he can see for himself what Remy said. I figured that as best mates, the two were privy to each other's secrets and would not mind if I revealed what I knew to one or the other.

[-]

From the super-shitty iPhone of Lily Evans~

**_21.35 PM Thursday, June 27_**

C'mon. Hit me with your best shot.

_*sigh* so demanding, Lily.__  
__I suffer from a disease that physically handicaps me every now and then. Because of it, I have a really weak immune system so you'll prob see me be sick more often than the other lads. And bc of this unfortunate handicap, others are wary of being near me (it is only transmittable through body fluids, you see) and are afraid that I pose as a health hazard to them. Long story short, I am a lone wolf, so to speak, bc people who learn of my condition (subconsciously I like to think) begin to treat me as if I am some sort of contagious and deathly germ. The world thinks that it would be a better place w/o people like me._

Oh, Remy, that's awful. You are a perfectly wonderful person and I know you would never harm anybody.  
I had a friend like that at my last school. He had a condition that seems to be like yours. But he had three special mates who would take no shit from others who treated him badly bc of his sickness. I hope Jamie would do the same for you.

_He does more than you know, flower._

I should hope so. He seems to be the type to give more than receive

_Exactly. You only find those type of people once in a blue moon._

[-]

Jamie looks at me carefully after reading the snapshot of mine and Remy's texting conversation. Slowly and precisely, Jamie says, "You do know how confidential Remy's condition is, right?"

I nod. "Of course. I wouldn't dare tell another soul about it. I can only imagine how lonely Remy's life is."

"Me and Cole have always been there for Remy since we were young lads," Jamie says, his eyes slightly unfocused as he reminisces about his childhood with his best mates. "There was another bloke, Peeta Maggot, who was in our circle of trust. These days, not so much. A few months ago he let slip of Remy's condition to one of those types of people who simply cannot be trusted. As a result, Remy's been targeted by this group ever since."

"That's horrible," I comment with a frown. "What type of friend does that?"

Jamie shakes his head. "I don't know...not a real friend, obviously." He sighs. "People change all the time, some for the better and some for the worse. No one can ever predict what the future will bring." He clicks my screen on again and studies the text conversation for a couple of moments. "You had a friend in a similar situation?" he enquires.

"Er, yeah," I say and then mime sealing my lips, locking them, and throwing away an imaginary key over my shoulder. "But, as you know, the specifics are to be kept confidential."

He concurs with an acknowledging smile. "As it should be." Jamie yawns and wraps his arm around my shoulders, effectively snuggling me in closer to his side.

I smirk. "Sneaky, sneaky, Mr Taylor," I commend his brilliant performance. "Not very original but efficient."

"I have absolutely no bloody idea on what you're trying to tell me, Lee-lee."

I tilt my head up to gauge the expression on Jamie's face but immediately I am distracted by the wonderful stubble-yness covering the side of his jaw. Dazed, it takes me awhile to reorganise my thoughts but eventually I get my mind back into working order.

"See something you like?" he laughs. That bloody bastard—he knows damn well the effect he is having on me!

"_No_," is my response but it sounds rather weak and defensive to even my own ears. "What I was _trying_ to say earlier is that your yawn-and-stretch move is typical of a guy and rather banal."

"So you want originality?" Jamie winks and unexpectedly uses the arm oh-so-casually slung over my shoulders to lightly finger-comb through my tousled mess of ginger hair. He even pauses every now and then to give my scalp a much-need massage.

"Oh," I breathe in complete rapture. My eyelids flutter shut and I hum contentedly. "_So_ much better than the yawn-and-arm-stretch." And then to my complete dismay, I _purr_.

Startled, Jamie hesitates and his ministrations to my head falter just the tiniest bit. "Did you just..._purr_ at me?"

"Why'd you stop?" I mumble and nudge his hand with my head a little bit. "Keep going," I encourage him. Jamie laughs incredulously at me. Once he starts petting me again, I say: "And haven't we already gone over my weird repertoire of noises? Yes, I growl and squeak and now apparently I purr."

"You are one odd, fascinating girl," is all that Jamie has to say.

"Why, thank you," I respond back. I don't purr at him anymore, but I do let out a tired yawn myself.

"I should get going," Jamie says reluctantly. He doesn't make any sort of move to get up off the couch. "But you still haven't told me the true reason as to why Remy had me come over to your flat."

I latch myself tighter to Jamie and make him keep stroking my head. The monotonous rhythm to his caresses lulls me into a comfortable stupor that quickly leads to the direction of Dream Land. "Don't leave, then," I mumble. "I'll tell you in the morning. Promise."

Jamie sighs. "Oh, Lee-lee."

"Mmm?"

"You make it so very hard to resist your offer."

I yawn again and am almost asleep when I sleepily mumble back: "Then stop resisting."

[-]

From the super-shitty iPhone of Lily Evans~

**_23.12 PM Thursday, June 27_**

_Hey Buttercup, it's R. You keeping J hostage over-night?_

**_23.56 PM Thursday, June 27_**

_I take it that's a yes. I hope he keeps the monsters in the closet away. Then again, J is pretty scary himself._

**_1.04 AM Friday, June 28_**

Unknown #: so youre the infamous lily evans? Im the equally infamous cole! nice to meet you, flower. Word on the street is that youve gotten r little Jamesie to embrace his feminine side & participate in a sleep-over. Congrats to you! Do you know how long Ive tried to get him to do that?

**_1.05 AM Friday, June 28_**

_Ignore that little lump of coal. He's unbearable annoying. Anyways, we'll leave you two to your sleep. If that's what you're doing..._

_Oops. That was completely uncalled for. Sorry, Lily :)_

**_1.08 AM Friday, June 28_**

aha! u cant always be blaming me for innuendos when u do it all the time urself!

oh, er, i meant to send this to rem. nighteyy-nite, lily-boo!

& again, congrats on making jamesie particip8 in a sleep-over. me totes jelly!

**_1.13 AM Friday, June 28_**

_This time it's goodnight forreal (: Or I guess, good morning..._

[-]

* * *

**Author's Note: Eventually I will condense these many chapters that span basically one scene into longer chapters, but for now I'll leave them separate just so I can upload quickly (even if my updating doesn't seem so quick at times :)  
**

French Translation:

**Italien~ Italian  
ravissant~ enchanting  
policier~ police officer**


	7. Good As Gone

**Author's Note: You readers have been quiet lately...what gives?**

**Things are going to start to get serious and heavy. It's not just all about sunshine and butterflies and romance and friendship for Jamie and Lily. They've got to deal with Death Eaters and I can assure you, those crazies are about as far away from rainbows and happiness as you can get. Like, they don't even need to dress up for Halloween to be scary.  
So, yeah. I'm gonna change the genre of this fic from 'Friendship' to 'Angst'. Or maybe 'Mystery'. Or 'Suspense'. One of those dark and intense genres...k?**

**Disclaimer~ I would have to be a Death Eater to even dare infringe JKRowling. "Good As Gone" is by Little Big Town.  
**

* * *

Chapter Seven: Good As Gone

I wake up feeling all out of sorts. Perhaps it is because of my peculiar sleeping arrangements last night, but that thought never crosses my sleep-addled mind until much, much later. No, I am pretty sure that my vivid and confusing dream is what has me mystified, slightly panicky, and

Last night I dreamt about James Potter.

I know, I know. This calls for a national emergency. All of Britain should evacuate their flats and houses and wait for further instruction from the Queen of Awkward (aka, me).

The dream actually wasn't that bad. I was back at Hogwarts re-living 7th Year as co-Heads with him. If my memory serves me right, working with Potter wasn't as excruciating as I thought it would have been. Sure, he had been sarcastic and a player and a troublemaker (after all, once a Marauder, forever a Marauder) but oddly it was _tolerable_. I know, I know, it shocked the shit out of me once I found out that getting along with Potter wasn't impossible.

But my dream wasn't centred around on the many surprises of Potter. Instead, my wild imagination had created up some sort of fictitious alternate-ending to a particularly horrible day a couple weeks prior to graduation.

It was the day I almost died.

Now, being sorted into such a reckless House has made me get into a few nasty scrapes before and I've flirted with Death much more than I probably should have, but this time was different. This time, I was actually supposed to die. I probably would have if Remus Lupin hadn't shown up in the library's Restricted section to return some Dark book he needed for our AP Advanced Potions class.

My dream changed the person in my memory, though. Instead of Remus finding me surrounded by a ring of Death Eaters, it was Potter who had come to the rescue. Except…he was a stag. That is what really alerted me that I was dreaming; I mean, it really is not possible to for a person to transform into an animal who is single-handedly able to fight off Dark magic, right? Silly, I know. My mum always told me I had an active imagination.

I pick my head up off the sofa's armrest and squint blearily outside. Judging from the darkness outside of my windows, I figure it to be early morning. With a yawn, I tuck myself back into Jamie's comforting warmth and pull the blanket of sleep over my eyes.

When I wake up later, Jamie is gone.

.

.

I don't see him until July. We text each other every now and then, but it just isn't the same as talking in person. I do talk to Remy a lot and we go out for coffee every now and then. Our friendship dynamic has changed slightly since we shared our secrets and demons. Remy's the serious one out of Cole, Jamie, and him, and I find myself depending on his quiet strength. I did tell Jamie about what the Death Eaters did to me, but it was over the phone and I didn't receive a reply from him until two days later. He responded with a few blunt words. He wasn't rude or anything, but it made me realise that only Remy truly understood the social rejection I had been through.

Life in Nashville is wonderful. I love being able to start over. The Muggle world is relatively simple compared to all the drama and trouble going on in the magical world. That's not to say the two do not overlap more often than they used to – Voldemort and his Death Eater cronies create havoc wherever they please, whether it be magical or non-magical folk who are subjected to their torture. But America really is a land of freedom. I don't have Sev giving me half-assed _I'm sorry_ looks all the time, and my paranoia about Death Eaters waiting to hex me everywhere I go has subsided a bit. And the Marauders do not stress me out with their childish ways anymore, although Jamie, Cole, and Remy could give the Marauders a run for their money. Just the other day, the three idiots decided it would be cool to dress up like pretentious hipsters and go down Music Strip pretending like they wanted a record deal. That was when I learned that Cole is the worst troublemaker in the world. And that his opera voice is terrible.

I love how accepting Nashville is, though. Cole could sing like an Italian yodeller, and nobody on the street would even bat an eye. Tie-dye hippies are everywhere as well as redneck heartbreakers and cowboys and Prada-wearing business people. London is all about punks and rebels, Paris is the snobby fashion-conscious supermodels, and Nashville is basically anything and everything. I love it.

Not to mention, everyone here has odd and eccentric diets. There are vegans, vegetarians, gluten-free people, fruitarians, lactose intolerant, and pescetarians. Any diet besides "normal" is allowed in Nashville. The best part is that restaurants label which foods pertain to which diet. And I've ditched the nasty local supermarket that I met Jamie at for Whole Foods, a grocery shop which is like an organic and all-natural food heaven. No other grocery shop can even compare to Whole Foods; that is just how perfect the place is.

Saffy keeps me updated with the going-ons of the wizarding world by snail mail and social media. It's all rather grim and depressing what the Death Eaters are doing. Muggleborns are being targeted and attacked every single day, and even half-bloods are being persecuted by their fellow witches and wizards. Purebloods consider themselves the supreme race, of course, but even then, some are being knocked off the totem pole as they label one another blood traitors for believing in equality between all the magical folk. Just the other day, Saffy reported that Death Eaters were the instigators behind the murder of two twin Squibs who were living a quiet and content Muggle life in New York City. That had been big news in the Muggle world as well when CNN and its group of Muggles sat around scratching their heads at the strange phenomenon of two perfectly healthy people found dead in their flat after a neighbour reported a flash of green light. It didn't help matters media wise that the dead twins were, in fact, the extremely famous Mary Kate and Ashley.

The Death Eaters have been becoming restless and quite careless lately. They never bother to cover up their tracks or clean up the scenes of their crimes. I guess it should trouble me that they are gaining so much power lately, but I shove that negative thought to the back of my mind and thank Godric daily that they leave the clues of their whereabouts visible to the public. It makes it so much easier to see where they have been and where they are going to attack.

But the thing is, if I am able to make the connection and see the pattern between the attacks and the locations, the Ministry of Magic should be able to see the correlation as well and then be able to find some sort of way to stop the Death Eaters and their leader from gaining power. However, the Ministry turns a blind eye as it usually does when confronted with such matters of importance. The Minister is off holed up in his office signing paper treaties and sending off delegates to other countries and completely neglects the turmoil in Britain. In all honesty, I'm surprised the Death Eaters have not revolted or infiltrated the Ministry yet. Merlin knows the wizarding government would be easy to take over.

It is so obvious that war between the Death Eaters and the rest of the wizarding population is inevitable. And from the way things are going in the Death Eater's favour, they are going to overrun and corrupt the magical world. What I don't understand is why there is not a secret rebellion or a group that is outwardly opposing the Death Eaters. Surely not everyone agrees with their racist ideals and stubborn bigotry?

But the Death Eaters are so damn obvious with their plan of action! Why isn't anyone stepping up and resisting them? Even the Muggles are starting to take notice that something is not quite right with the sudden increase of deaths in Britain. People around Nashville are speculating that a new Jack the Ripper is attacking London. Smarter people like Jamie have already made the connection that what is happening is way more global than a serial killer's work in one city. Take today for example: before I even had time to rub my eyes and heat the water in the tea kettle, he had already texted me to play Twenty Questions about what the Death Eaters are doing in the UK.

[-]

From the super-shitty iPhone of Lily Evans~

**__****_1.58 AM Tuesday, July 9_**

Wake up, i need to ask you something

Like?

Youve been watching the news lately, right?

Jamie, you *know* I treat BBC like its a religion  
Praise Jesus, Hallelujah, Amen and all that

Oh, yeah. Dumb question.  
But anyways, d'you know what's going on in the UK? It seems pretty unsafe and unstable these days

Mum told me its a neo-Nazi group wanting to purify Britain or something like that. Minority groups are the targets  
I would advise Remy to stay in the States for awhile until the whole thing blows over

You think it'll actually 'blow over'? It seems pretty serious to me

Of course it's serious. They're *killing* people, Jamie.

So is anyone doing anything about it?

I have no idea.  
Saffy says some of the advocators are preaching their distorted values in France as well. It's only a matter of time until the whole thing goes global.  
Only then will people actually start giving a damn about what's happening.

But what exactly *is* happening?

I wish I could tell you. But I don't know the full extent of it

These people are killing innocents!

I know, Jamie. It breaks my heart

So then do something about it! Fight back! Get them and their xenophobic beliefs out of Britain!

What the hell do you think I'm doing? Sitting on my lazy ass and letting them stake their claim over my home? Do I look like the type of person who rolls over and plays nice with the enemy? Merlin, Jamie, I *want* to fight! But how can I?! I'm trying to figure out a way to get their mental little party the fuck out of the world but I'm just one person!  
And they're *killing* people, Jamie! How am I supposed to fight against that when it is practically impossible for me to kill a spider?  
And I *know* these people. I used to go to school with these people! I've met them before and have seen them smile and be polite and watched them kiss up to their professors and the like and I USED TO BE THE ONE THEY TORTURED. Me, and all the other kids who shared the same goddamned wrong blood-type, and the guy I told you about who had a disease that tied into the lunar cycle! This group that is terrorizing Britain right now got their practice in by tormenting all the lesser fortunate ones at my boarding school!  
IF I COULDN'T FIGHT AGAINST THEM THEN, HOW THE HELL CAN I SUDDENLY GROW A PAIR AND FIGHT AGAINST THEM NOW?

Aw, hell, Lee-lee, I didn't mean to make you upset

That's besides the fucking point and you know it.

You are absolutely right. But what I'm trying to say is that these people have got to be stopped

Well no fucking shit, Sherlock

And I bet there are loads of others who want to prevent these crazies from amassing any more followers and power...

Jamie. You have got to think rationally. This...conflict...in Europe is going to turn into a war one of these days. It's going to become a bloody mess and people are going to die

Lily. They are *already* dying

But you don't have to fucking play hero adn shit and save the day!

I'm not trying to play hero! I just don't want any more innocents to die because of these crazies!  
Look, Lee-lee. They've already targeted you once; who's to stop them from targeting you again?

I don't need you to fight my battles for me! I've managed perfectly well without you, haven't I? I'm still alive and doing quite alright!

And all the other ones with your same condition who the neo-Nazis have already killed? How are they doing, huh?

THEY'RE DEAD, JAMIE.

That's exactly my point! And that'll be you if SOMEONE DOESN'T STEP UP AND GET RID OF THE NEO-NAZIS IN LONDON!

But *you* don't need to be the one to stop them! You don't need to be sacrificing your stubborn ungrateful ass!

But then who will? You say that things will change but nothing will change unless people put a stop to them! And so far, nobody has done it, so I'm going to be the one who will!

[-]

I stare at my iPhone screen in disgust. I hate fighting with Jamie but he is being so fucking obstinate! Yes, I understand that he wants to put an end to the Death Eaters before they get even more out of control, and yes, it is incredibly sweet of him to be worried about me but he's a _Muggle_. There is absolutely nothing he can possibly do to be effective against a Death Eater's wand. Even I, the well-trained witch that I am, am practically powerless against their Dark Magic. And it makes me feel so damn _horrible _that he is being wholly unselfish and wanting to help out any way that he can to rebel and revolt against the Death Eaters even if it means sacrificing his life while I am cowering away in another country to escape their notice. Why does he have to be so _perfect_ when I am trying my very hardest to be upset with him?

If only he knew the whole truth about the Death Eaters. He wouldn't be so eager to take them down if he knew just exactly what he is getting himself into.

I sigh and feel completely dismayed by the purely selfish feelings coursing through me. I know I am flawed but I never realised how awful of a human being I really am. I should be appreciative and thankful that Jamie wants to stop the Death Eaters. I should be indebted that he understands that because of my past I am a shattered soul and that I am lost and wandering to find a purpose in life since all they ever did was cut me down and tell me I did not deserve to live. I should be grateful that Jamie wants to protect me and all the other Muggleborns like me so we do not have to go through any more Death Eater-related torture. But instead, all I feel is deep bitterness at his selfless choice.

My phone stays silent for the rest of the day.

.

.

"So what's up between you and Jamesie, flower?" Cole asks me as he tries to balance a silver spoon on his nose.

"Politics," I say tersely. I'm still feeling sour towards Jamie for the harsh words we exchanged a week ago. Instead of increasing the animosity between us, though, I've been neutral by giving him the cold shoulder and ignoring him completely whenever I hang out with him, Remy, and Cole. My logic is that by saying nothing to him, we cannot argue and get into another fight.

"Oh, you mean like all that stuff that is going on in Britain?" Remy inquires from his seated perch on my granite kitchen counter.

I narrow my eyes at the two guys. "_Yes_," I hiss, hoping they'll drop the subject.

Of course Jamie, being the obnoxious insufferable bastard that he is, continues on with whatever his mates are trying to get at. "Yeah, Lily is getting all bent out of shape about the fact that there is no resistance group trying to stop the people who are fucking up the UK."

I glare at him, hating that he's encouraging the topic. Also, he has his facts wrong, thank you very much. "No," I bite out. "That is _not_ what is bothering me. What irks me is that you want to start up this so-called resistance group and that you don't give a flying fuck about your life or the dangers of the situation!"

Hazel eyes flash accusingly back at me. "Is it so bad that I care more about your life and all the other minorities over myself?"

I throw my hands up in the air. "Of course not! It's really great that you want to embark on this stupid-ass hero mission to save the world!"

"Oh, quit the drama, Lily!" Jamie sneers. "Just because I can face my fears—"

"Whoa there, you two," Remy interjects. "Why don't you guys calm down and take a breather?" He hops off my kitchen counter and gently nudges Jamie from out of my personal space. "C'mon, mate. Try to relax a bit—"

"No!" I yell and yank Jamie back to me. "Say it to my face, Taylor. Tell me how much of a coward you think I am!" When Jamie just stares at me and doesn't say a word, I shake his arms violently. "Come on! I know you want to say it! Tell me just how weak you think I am! How I am a fucking failure and a disgrace to humanity and—"

"Lily," he says in a low voice. "Shut up."

The world stops spinning for a moment. I can feel my breath halt in my lungs, clawing to be let out but my body holds it in until it feels like I am being suffocated by my own air. The lights of my kitchen brighten until they are blinding white spotlights shining down on me, highlighting my existence and presence in the world so that I have no place to hide. The blood roars in my ears, momentarily deafening me so that my body only focuses on how everything feels in this moment: how my feet are freezing from the cold atmosphere, how Cole is still oblivious to the whole exchange and is still trying to balance a spoon on his nose, how Remy's eyes have widened just a fraction of a centimetre in disbelief at mine and Jamie's words, how Jamie's face has seemed to go blank until I am staring into the face of a familiar stranger. My stomach churns and growls, uncomfortable with all the tension in the air. And then I blink, and the world resumes its spinning on its axis.

My vision blurs and I reach up to wipe my eyes. "Tell me you hate me," I say. "Tell me I'm a disappointment and that you can't bear the sight of me. I can handle that Jamie, I really can. But what I can't take is disagreeing with you about what's going on in England because I know you think you know best but it is completely suicidal what you want to do. You can't fight them, Jamie, and you have no idea what you're trying to go against. I know it sounds really selfish of me but I just want you alive! Is that so hard for you to understand? You say you want to revolt against those tyrants to save me and all the minority groups like Remy and those whose blood are considered 'impure' but I want the same thing for you; I want to save you from this craziness you are so desperate to join! I don't want you to die, alright?" The tears start to fall faster and faster until I cannot even see through the moisture. I turn on my heels and sprint my way out of my flat.

It's completely quiet behind me except for the tinny clatter of a silver spoon dropping to the tile floor.

[-]

From the super-shitty iPhone of Lily Evans~

**_9.42 AM Thursday, July 10_**

Just saw on the news that the British Ministry of Magic refused to collab with the François Ministère of Magique. T or F?

_Unfortunately, true_

Oh, no. I had blindly hoped it was a false statement

_It's a dangerous thing to hope these days_

What's going on Saffy? Have the Death Eaters really taken over to the point that France does not want to get involved?

_Lily, you're living in denial by staying in Amérique. _

I know, I know! But I truly think this is the best way that I can help!  
Is ther any sort of secret rebellion group that I can offer my services to?

_I think so. I've heard of one in London. They call themselves the Order of the Phoenix._

Alright, great. Do you know anything else about them?

**_9.52 AM Thursday, July 10_**

Hello?

**_9.57 AM Thursday, July 10_**

Saffy?

**_10.00 AM Thursday, July 10_**

HELLO?

AUTOMATIC MESSAGE: Your message 'HELLO?' failed to send. The number encoded for the recipient is no longer in use.

[-]

No. That had to be a mistake. Saffy couldn't just drop off the face of the Earth like that. I kept trying to send messages to her number but the same automatic message kept popping back up. After an hour or so, I resigned myself to the fact that something is going terribly wrong over in Europe.

What dreadful things are the Death Eaters up to now?

* * *

**Author's Note: And so the plot thickens.**

**Talk to me. Review. PM me. Let me know that ya'll exist and are not bound by ropes and stuck in the middle of a train track cos until somebody tells me otherwise, I'm pretty sure you'd have to be in a life-or-death situation to even want to read the bullshit that I write.**


	8. If You're Going Through Hell

**Disclaimer: JKRowling owns the HP universe. If You're Going Through Hell is sung by Rodney Atkins.**

* * *

Chapter Eight: If You're Going Through Hell

"Over in Britain there has been some strange sightings," the reporter on the telly screen remarks. The background behind her is live feed of what London looks like at the moment: the sky is a dark, omniscient grey and shadows fly in and out of the clouds in a way that is barely perceptible to the Muggle eye. Any wizard or witch in the world, however, would know that those dark splotches puncturing the sky every now and then are Death Eaters, poised and ready to attack the unsuspecting Muggle world. "The weather has been gloomier and rainier than the typical summer showers – be careful driving out on those roads tonight. Fog rolling in from the south-side will impede visibility by about forty percent and the roads are slick with rain." A bit of static cuts into the reporter's broadcast and muffles what she is saying.

"Bloody hell," I swear tersely and turn off the telly before throwing my remote control onto the ground angrily. So obviously, these Death Eater folks are pretty damn serious about eradicating anything that is not 'pure' enough for them. Not for the first time this evening, I wish for Saffy to answer her mobile or something so she could give me the truth on what is happening across the pond instead of this hyped up version the media is feeding the public.

All of the sudden I realise the living room of my flat looks like a hurricane cycled through it. Empty ice cream tubs overflow the rubbish bin, sweatpants and hoodies blanket the floor despite the outrageously hot temperatures outside, and a lovely coating of dust powders the room. Normally I am a major neat freak (Godric, I hate the word 'freak' ever since my sister overused it in my presence) but for some reason after my messages to Saffy wouldn't send I have been slacking off on the cleaning lately. Now, though, I see I have been living in something akin to a pig sty. Gross.

I take a deep breath and suck it up and deal. Half an hour later, everything in the room is put away and sparkling. I don't feel much better, though. Cleaning was always more of Petunia's skill.

"Knock, knock!" yells a voice outside the front door of the flat. It sounds suspiciously like Jamie.

"Who's there?" I respond, expecting a punch line to follow.

"Me and Moone," is the muffled answer.

I furrow my brow, trying to figure out the joke. Suddenly I realise Jamie didn't intend for there to be a punch line. "Oh," I say embarrassedly with a laugh as I open the door. "Er, come on in."

"I'm here too!" grins a smiling Cole.

"And hello to you, too," I wave. Cole mistakes my gesture, though, and smacks me on the palm for a high-five.

Remy follows in after Cole and remarks appreciatively: "Wow, Lily, your place sure is clean. Hey, after spending so much time with us, why haven't your cleaning skills rubbed off on James, yet?"

"Bet that isn't the only thing he wished could be rubbed off," I hear Cole snicker under his breath.

Jamie's face goes blank. "Pardon me," he tells me stiffly and goes into my flat after Remy.

I roll my eyes at them. I always forget that they are immature guys but of course, they never fail to remind me of their childish dirty minds. I close the door after Jamie and turn towards them, hands on my hips. "Better Jamie than you," I quip to Cole with an arched eyebrow. Alright, so maybe I am a little immature myself. Guilty as charged.

All three of their jaws snap open. Cole is laughing his ass off in the kitchen while he stuffs his face with the contents of my fridge; Remy is biting his lip while snickering under his breath; and Jamie is wide-eyed and incredulous – not to mention speechless.

"What?" I inquire innocently. "I only speak the truth."

Jamie responds to this remark with a choked sound.

"Ah, flower, you might consider straying from the innuendo before James here . . . well, _you know_," Remy helpfully supplies with a smirk at his friend.

I laugh and join Jamie on the loveseat where he is sitting awkwardly. "Come on, Jamie," I loosely shake him by the shoulders. "Lighten up. I was only joking."

"Right," he says, not meeting my eyes. "Joking."

I cock my head to the side at his odd behaviour. I don't dwell over it too long, though, because Cole has come out of the kitchen and turns the telly on. The awful broadcast of Britain is still showing.

Remy wolf-whistles at the film clips the telly is showing of the destruction and carnage in Muggle London. "Damn," he whispers.

Next to me, Jamie tenses. I turn to face him and watch his eyes flicker across the footage, taking it all in. Suddenly he faces me, hands clenched and tendons straining in his neck. "Look at that, Lily," he growls in a hoarse voice. "Dear Godric, just _look_ at that Lily."

"I know," I say softly. My hands start fiddling in my lap due to all the tension in the room. I have a feeling this will result in another screaming match between Jamie and me. I hate fighting with him, though, and so I refuse to get angry with him even though he is a maelstrom of emotion right now.

He thumps his head on the back of the sofa. "I have to go," he says abruptly and then he is gone, out the door.

I squeeze my eyes shut. I don't know what he meant about that remark – did he need to leave out of my flat? To London? – but I do know that there is nothing I can do to stop him, hard as I may try. So in his wake, I whisper: "I know."

[-]

Summer classes are horrible. Normally I love taking as many credits as humanly possible, but I am not focused on my studies anymore. Saffy was right: who am I to delude myself that I could be safe in America at Uni while there is a war raging on over in Britain? Lord Voldemort doesn't give a rat's ass about molecular biology or how many volts of electricity are needed to generate plasma. Not to mention, I hate to keep Cole, Remy, and Jamie in the dark about the truth of what is happening in Britain. However, I get the feeling that they are not as clueless as other Muggles are.

I'm out on the main quad of Vanderbilt and flipping through the endless pages of my Intro to Chemistry textbook. All the diagrams are tangling themselves up in my brain and the formulas are drowning in a pool of subscripts. Needless to say, I am not very productive today.

"Vanilla bean frappuccino?" someone offers me, the heavenly drink shading the sun from my tired eyes.

"Thanks," I smile gratefully. The person settles down onto the grass besides me, regarding me carefully as I sip the drink in pure bliss.

"Jamie told me to get it for you," Cole says in passing.

"Mmm," I nod. "Tell him my thanks."

We're silent for a little longer. I read another chapter about bonding.

"He cares about you, you know."

I look over at Cole and meet his eyes. I can see that there is a million things he wants to say to me but doesn't know how to. I imagine he sees the same things in my eyes. I settle for a lame: "I know. I care about him too."

"Not enough."

My fingers still on my textbook, pausing on their way to flip the page to enter a new chapter. I take in a deep breath, look to the sky, watch the clouds float by in happy little masses of hydrogen, oxygen, and nitrogen. "Maybe so," I respond softly. "But I care about him with all my heart."

Cole frowns at that. "He deserves more than that. He's sacrificed so much for you, rearranged his whole life you. The least you could do is support his decision."

I squeeze my eyes shut. "Not if his decision results in his death."

"It would kill him if you died. If he dies, I doubt you would be as devastated." Cole gets up and brushes the grass off himself. "I've got to get back to work."

My head is spinning at his accusation, and I hate to admit that I didn't realise just how much Jamie was emotionally invested in me. Cole is right – I wouldn't be as heartbroken as Jamie would be about my death, but now that I know, well, my feelings are changing. I don't want this conversation to be over yet, so I cling on to the time this unnaturally serious Cole is spending with me.

"You work? Where?" I ask frantically, jumping up and hastily gathering my stuff up.

"Er, just the local grocery shop," Cole says shiftily.

My eyes widen. "You wouldn't happen to be a trolley manager, would you?"

"Bloody hell," Cole curses. "It's the hair that makes me recognisable, isn't it?" He questions, his hands patting down his hair.

"Hmm." I consider the possibility. "Actually, no. Your hair made me think you were a bloke I saw back at my boarding school in Scotland." I think back to past conversations and interactions I've had with Jamie and Remy. "Oh my Godric. I swear, I saw you a month ago when I went shopping. You tossed me a trolley. But . . . Jamie said you weren't supposed to be in America until a few weeks ago."

"Yeah, well, to put it mildly, he was pissed when he learned that I'd been in Nashville all this time and didn't tell him," Cole explains. "I just . . . needed to get a feel of this place before I committed to it, you know?"

He is making absolutely no sense to me but I nod like I understand because Cole looks like he needs someone to understand and not question his reasoning.

"Alright," I say slowly. "Er, so you're here permanently then?"

He shrugs. "Something of the sort." He starts walking backwards towards the entrance of Vanderbilt. "I really do have to go, Lily. I'm sure Remy and I will stop by your flat this evening for the usual shit."

I notice the absence of a specific name in that sentence. I open my mouth to ask Cole about it, but he shakes his head.

"He left last night. By now, James should be in London."

[-]

Bloody fucking hell. The bastard _wouldn't_ do that to me. I wait until I am off the quad until I am in my car before I break down. He can't be gone. He doesn't know what the hell is going on in Britain. There is no way he could have realised how grave the situation is over there. He probably thought it was just some sort of terrorist attacks – how the hell he thought he could be so invincible is beyond my comprehension. Jamie is just a Muggle. He's got no magic, no hope to survive against the Death Eaters and Voldemort. I should have warned him, told him _something_ before he left. What the fuck am I saying? _He_ should have told me about his plans. _He_ should have explained his plan of attack so I could dissuade him against it.

Godric dammit. I lean over the gearshift for a package of tissue to wipe up my tears. He's going to die over there. Jamie is too fucking young to die. The fuck, why didn't Remy or Cole stop him?

A buzz from my mobile captures my attention. I slip it out of my pocket and try to read the screen through my blurred, watery vision.

[-]

From the super-shitty iPhone of Lily Evans~

**_14.13 PM Wednesday, July 16_**

In London. Sorry for short notice

YOU BLOODY BASTARD! WHAT THE FUCKING HELL WERE YOU THINKING?  
and like hell i'll fucking believe your shitty excuse of an apology

Damn, lee-lee, calm down. I know how to take care of myself

Don't you fucking dare tell me to 'calm down'!  
flying yourself over to Britain is by no means a way to 'take care of yourself'. You're going to get yourself killed!  
or does that not mean shit to you?

Lily . . .

Don't 'Lily' me

You're being unreasonable

You're being insensible

This convo isn't going at all like how I expected it to

Oh? Really? What did you expect, then?  
for me to just accept your disappearance like you leaving into a warzone doesn't fucking matter to me? That it's alright for you to go fly off and hope to save the day?  
James, you aren't bloody Superman!

Lily, I swear, I'm safe. I found a group that is anti- all of this. They're protecting me, keeping me safe. You don't need to worry.  
They told me I had ten minutes left to use this mobile before they have to destroy it. Personal reasons you know? Wouldn't want it to get into the wrong hands.  
I'll be back before you know it. Don't worry about me.

Be safe.

AUTOMATIC MESSAGE: Your message 'Be safe.' failed to send. The number encoded for the recipient is no longer in use.

[-]

I didn't bother trying to hide my tears after I read that last message.

* * *

**Author's Note: Thank you. Ya'll are angels. **


End file.
